


Pieces

by Sorted



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Anal Sex, Friends to Lovers, Imperfect People, M/M, Oral Sex, Trevelyan is a doink, all the sex, everybody has opinons, life is full of surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-04 02:12:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12760977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorted/pseuds/Sorted
Summary: Like two puzzle pieces that keep turning and turning until they finally fit together perfectly. Because puzzle pieces bum each other and it makes a pretty picture.





	1. Chapter 1

“Help me out with something, Krem.”

“What’s that, Chief?”

“Well, you’re a human man, so I thought maybe you would know what’s going on with Trevelyan. What is his type?”

“The Inquisitor’s a flirt. Everybody knows that.” Krem took the head off a dummy in a sort of matter-of-fact punctuation to this detail.

“True, but he doesn’t flirt with everybody. He’s all over some people, and others he’s just blind to.”

“Feeling slighted?”

Bull chuckled, shaking his head. He didn’t give a damn if the Inquisitor wanted a tumble with him or not—though it always opened up new avenues of information when someone _did_. But at the moment, all he wanted was to figure out if the man had a specific type, because the only other conclusion Bull could reach was that Maxwell Trevelyan was dumb as a post. 

“Both Cullen and Red had to shut him down hard; he just wasn’t taking the hint.” Bull could understand with Leliana—it was obvious to _him_ that she wasn’t interested in Trevelyan, but the fact that Bull couldn’t tell if it was because she preferred women or had someone else already or _what_ just meant that she was doing a good job of keeping her secrets, and the Inquisitor probably thought he had a chance. But Cullen? Cullen was so obviously not inclined toward men it was painful to watch the Herald of Andraste trying to hit on him. So maybe he was an idiot. But then again… “Josephine and the ‘Vint are both into him. He’s been even worse with those two since Cullen and Red asked him to quit. But that’s it. He hasn’t flirted with anyone else. So what’s the pattern?”

Krem planted his maul and leaned on it slightly. “You really have no idea?”

Bull rubbed his chin. “Lots of other people would be up for it. He _is_ the Inquisitor. I think the Seeker even has a little crush on him, but he doesn’t notice. _Damn._ ” He shook his head. “I thought, when _I_ got nothing, that he just preferred humans. But then, why not the Seeker? Why not Viv or Blackwall? Not that he’d get far with them, but he tried with Cullen and Red, so that doesn’t seem to matter…”

Krem sighed. “It’s the pretty ones, Chief.” He hefted his maul again. “He’s just shallow. That’s all it is.”

Bull pondered this a moment. _Pretty?_ It was a concept he was familiar with and could even gauge and appreciate as well as anyone; it just never had much bearing on potential sexual partners. “The Seeker’s not pretty?”

Krem shrugged. “ _I_ think so, but maybe the scar puts him off. Or the way she usually conceals her…” He coughed, “…assets.”

“I never thought the Seeker did much to conceal her _ass_ -ets,” Bull grinned.

Krem groaned. “The _front_ , Chief.”

“Hmm.” Bull took this idea and started trying it out with his observations. It fit…strangely. He wasn’t sure how it made any sense, though. Liking certain things was not strange; Bull famously loved redheads, but that really had less to do with color and more to do with the fiery temperament they usually had. Stereotypes were not facts to be relied upon, but it still held true that Bull had yet to meet a mild-mannered or meek redhead. They always had _some_ kind of fire in them, and damn but that was fun in the bedroom. But just “pretty”? Pretty didn’t make someone fun in bed, though it could make them troublesome. Pretty was just for looking at. “Does he want to have sex with them, or just put them in a display case in his room?”

“You qunari sure are odd.” Krem shook his head. “People like pretty. Whatever looks nice, they want it. Some people don’t care about much else. We call those types _shallow._ ”

“Sounds like a bad thing.” Or, at the very least, it was a weakness. If the Inquisitor was swayed by any pretty face…the Ben-Hassrath were going to count that as a valuable detail.

“It’s not great,” Krem offered, setting to work on the dummy again. “But it’s not terrible. I’d rather the Inquisitor be shallow than a liar, or greedy, or power-hungry.”

“Yeah…good point.” With that, Bull filed the conversation away to add to his reports later. Krem was good to have around in more ways than one.

 

\--

 

Maxwell Trevelyan was everything Dorian had ever dreamed of—gorgeous, smart, well-bred but not full of himself, charming, strong, a natural leader, utterly lacking in arrogance, funny, caring, and perhaps most amazing of all…interested in _Dorian_.

“If only Father knew…” A haunting voice from atop a bookshelf. Dorian tried to ignore Cole. “And Rilienus—bitter, forgotten, look at me now…he’s ten times better, and not afraid to touch me when others might see…”

Setting his pen down with a sigh, he glanced up. “Must you? I’m quite aware that I can be petty at times. You needn’t air those particular thoughts.”

“It still hurts, but it feels good too. I’m trying to understand.”

“I think you won’t be successful,” Dorian replied.

“But it hurts…”

Another sigh. “Very well, I’ll try to explain.” He sat back. “I suppose it’s a natural instinct for us—to fight back and inflict pain in return, when we’ve been hurt. It becomes a sort of vengeance—‘You once rejected me, now I’m rejecting you by being so much happier than you could ever have made me.’ That sort of thing. It’s not very nice, and we aren’t proud of those feelings, but there they are.”

“I’ll make him sorry he ever let someone else have me…”

“Quite.”

“And that would…help?”

Dorian tapped the page in front of him. “Possibly not. I can’t say for certain; I’ve never had the pleasure. But we do so like to imagine that it would. I’d be a much better man if I could just be happy with Maxwell’s attentions, without comparing him to others.”

“But he frightens you as well. He reminds you of the hurt.”

Dorian bit his lip, only for a moment before his practiced façade returned. It was amazing how well he was beginning to understand the spirit, at least when they were talking about _him_. The rest of the time, he quickly got lost, but this… “It’s true. I’d feel much better if I could be the only one he noticed. Yet…it isn’t fair to make such a demand.”

“Wishing but wondering, wounded and wistful…” Cole suddenly stopped, and when Dorian glanced at the shelf again, he was gone. A moment later, he heard a familiar footstep, and he was already grinning as he turned and saw Maxwell Trevelyan approaching, lovely brown eyes warm with his beautiful, beautiful smile.

Dorian leaned back into a comfortable, inviting posture. “Did you know we’re actually related, Inquisitor?” His grin was teasing, playful. This sort of flirting was largely new to him, but perhaps Dorian was a natural—he picked up the Southern ways so quickly, in this area. No more need of furtive glances toward secretive nooks for a quick liaison, no more silent invitations with the briefest meeting of eyes. This was open, playful—so like commoners, so lacking in subtlety, and yet so… _fun._

“Related?”

A bit of real alarm there, just for a moment. _Adorable._ “Oh, not first cousins or anything like that. Can you imagine?” Maxwell came and sat on the edge of his desk—delightfully close. They talked, close enough to touch, close enough that Dorian’s bare arm could feel the faintest warmth from the man’s body. In spite of all his mastery of his own expressions, Dorian felt himself flushing slightly. He’d been happy, in the past, to be chased by men he would never actually _like._ To have the attention of a man he both liked and admired, a man half of Thedas was beginning to flock to—even desire demons couldn’t invent dreams like this.

“I’d rather we weren’t related. That might make flirting awkward.” This, with a brush of fingertips along the bare curve of his bicep. Dorian’s heart did a little skip. _Calling it that…so openly._ It was thrilling.

When Maxwell left—and Dorian made no effort to hide the direction of his gaze as the man walked away—Cole reappeared.

“No…he’s going to see The Iron Bull now.” Then, with a smile in his ghostly voice, “I’m glad that helped.”

 

\--

 

Bull dealt the cards this time; he’d also bought the next round because Varric had won. “So how did it go in Redcliff?” he finally asked. Not that he needed tactics with Varric, the willing storyteller. Sometimes being friendly was a tool; sometimes it was just _being friendly_. Bull preferred the latter.

“Well, there’s not much fun in that story, Tiny. It worked out, but it wasn’t pretty.”

“I gathered. The rumors are hard to believe.”

A sigh. “Usually they’re way off, but this time it’s mostly true. Yes, Sparkler’s father was there, and yes, apparently our flashy mage friend is here with us today because his family wouldn’t accept that he prefers men, and he wouldn’t accept the bride they had picked for him.” Varric picked up another card while Bull waited silently. “And yes,” he finally added, “it seems his father was planning to change his mind—quite literally—with blood magic. The tavern exploding isn’t true, though. They managed to talk it out without blowing anything up.”

“Talk it out?”

Varric shrugged. “Sparkler didn’t elaborate much. The Inquisitor left them inside to discuss things a bit. He didn’t relate the details.”

“How was he, afterward?”

“Pretty much like he is now—quieter. And…” Varric stopped, then nodded to the door of the Rest. Bull had already seen who’d just walked in. “Drinking, more than usual.”

Dorian Pavus crossed to the bar. By the looks of it, and by the little amount of lip-reading Bull could manage from here, it seemed he was planning to buy a few bottles and vanish again.

It was a snap decision to intervene and go grab the guy, pull him over to their table with a friendly invitation and a hand on his back steering him. In two minutes, Bull had bought him a tankard and dealt him in, and Dorian looked disgruntled and snooty about it—but he stayed. He was harder to read than most, but actions spoke loudest.

They played cards and drank; Varric bought the next round, and between them, Bull and Varric found excuses to buy the ‘Vint his drinks until he was sloshed enough not to pay attention where they were coming from or why. Bull kept expecting the Inquisitor to show up—he often visited the tavern anyway, and he also often made time for a chat with his companions whenever anything noteworthy happened with them. Good leadership. But so far, he was a no-show. When Varric hopped up to go take a leak, Bull tried a little fishing.

“You doing all right, Dorian? I understand family stuff can be rough.”

He was met with bleary-eyed suspicion. “Insight into humans gained during one of your many lengthy ‘chats’ with members of the staff?”

“Something like that.” He smiled. Smiling tended to put people at ease. “Hey, I’m not claiming to be the expert. But,” he raised a hand in a gesture around the tavern, “looks like I’m what you get, right now.”

“You certainly are the expert in making yourself _available_ ,” Dorian dryly observed before returning to his drink.

Bull laughed, but he was quietly studying Dorian at the same time. He hadn’t put much effort into this one, yet, but his most recent orders had included a request for more information on the altus. There were agents in Tevinter who could probably use just about anything Bull could find out. Dorian, however, did not seem to be opening up—not to Bull, anyway. That was good—a healthy suspicion. He’d make Bull work for his information. _Not bad._

__So…he poked.

“I wonder where the boss is? Figured he would have tracked you down by now to check up on you.”

One of Dorian’s fingers twitched against his cup, but that was all. “The Inquisitor is no one’s nanny, Iron Bull. He’s a very busy man.”

“Sure.” Bull kept his tone placating. “But he makes a habit of talking with his people. And he usually doesn’t neglect _you_ …”

The cards in Dorian’s hand trembled, just slightly, but the man’s voice was steady, if a tad slurred. “He’s _not_ neglecting me. Maxwell Trevelyan was exceptionally attentive in Redcliff, not to mention his consideration and support in even making the trip with me in the first place. Frankly, he’s been wonderful.”

“Mmm.” Bull nodded, perfectly innocent. “Then, do you know where he is right now?”

The pause was long, and Varric reappeared and was headed back over to them before Dorian quietly replied, “I believe Lady Montilyet needed his help with something.”

_Ah._

So Dorian was aware that he was not Trevelyan’s only interest. Bull toyed with the idea, just for a moment, of offering his own conclusions on the Inquisitor’s flirtations. Dorian probably wouldn’t like it right away, but it might make him open up more later. Guys like him were a long game.

_“Trevelyan only likes you for your looks.” Hmm. Maybe not._

After all, Bull wasn’t entirely sure of that. The Inquisitor’s taste ran toward beauty, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of developing deeper feelings. Bull knew something about these things, though it was observational and theoretical more than experiential knowledge. He knew the _bas_ liked to mix sex and friendship, along with something that had been explained to him as “adoration,” which was apparently akin to _ataashi_. It sounded like a messy combination. Either way, he needed more time to observe Trevelyan. If there _was_ more between them and Bull told Dorian there was less, that wouldn’t pan out well for him.

So he said nothing, and Varric joined them again, and the two of them made sure Dorian didn’t drink himself under the table.

 

\--

 

Maxwell _did_ come to chat about Redcliff—the following day. Dorian was calmer, but still not quite over the whole trip…and then Maxwell kissed him.

It was incredible; he wanted it to never end. Maxwell’s hands on him, holding him, his warm mouth and the press of his chest—it all made Dorian breathless. Kissing hadn’t thrilled him like this since he was a youth.

Alas, it had to end—with a few more murmured words of affection that had Dorian melting. Then Maxwell was gone, and Sera popped in through the window.

“So, you and the Inquisitor, hey?”

_She’s as bad as Cole._ He didn’t say that, though. He sat at his desk and tried not to look too giddy. “Not yet…but perhaps soon. I hope.”

“Nice.” She plopped down, cross-legged, and pulled a roll and an apple from a pouch and started eating. “Pity he’s taking Lady Josie to Val Royal-arseholes tomorrow.”

“Is he?” Dorian’s stomach tightened. “What for?”

“Meet wif somebody,” Sera mumbled through a half-full mouth. “Sumfin about killed meffengers.”

“That certainly sounds important…” he murmured mostly to himself. It was his own hope talking, and he knew it—hope that there was nothing special about Maxwell’s attention to the ambassador. There hadn’t been anything with Cullen, after all. The Inquisitor had been a flirt since before Dorian met him. Of course, that could just as easily mean that Maxwell had no serious intentions toward _him…_

Perhaps it was time to muster some courage and make a move of his own.

 

\--

 

“Thank you for your input, Iron Bull. As soon as the Inquisitor returns from Val Royeaux, we shall discuss this matter further.”

“Sure thing.” Bull took back the letter from Par Vollen and handed over his latest reports for Leliana to check. She read in silence for a few minutes before handing them back with a tiny half-smile.

“Your lieutenant and a bard, Sera and Dagna, Varric and Cassandra—which I think you’re wrong about, by the way—and a rather confusing mess of Blackwall, Josie, the Inquisitor, and Dorian? Does the Qun have much need of the Inquisition’s romantic gossip?”

“Hey, just doing my job. They want to know what’s going on around here. I figure if they’re considering offering an alliance, they should probably know what they’re getting into.”

Leliana shrugged. “As you say. Try to correct the inaccuracies, please.”

“Which ones? I think Varric and the Seeker are doing it.”

Another quiet smirk. “They’re not, but I was referring to the last one. The way you put it, in our language at least, you made it sound like Josie had spurned Blackwall for the Inquisitor, and Trevelyan and Dorian were already making love.”

“Aren’t they?” His confusion, naturally, seemed totally sincere, even though Bull had put that in there precisely to see what Red knew about it.

“They are not, at this point. And Josie is certainly not taking two men to her bed.”

“Egh,” Bull scratched a horn. “It’s hard to convey all this in Qunlat. We have words for friends, people we rely upon, and a totally separate vocabulary for people we f—um, have sex with.”

“I can see the difficulty.” She sweetly explained, “Josie is aware of the Warden’s affection, but they are not in a relationship. Josie is not aware of the Inquisitor’s attraction to her, but if he chooses to be sincere, she will learn of it and probably reciprocate. And Dorian and the Inquisitor are very attracted to each other, but neither has taken steps to make it serious, thus far.”

“I wonder if they will…” Bull mused. Always better than a direct question.

Leliana saw through him, however—her eyes knew what he was doing very well. Even so, she seemed to think it harmless to answer. “Something will happen, most definitely. But the Inquisitor will not act until he is serious, and he is not serious yet. Dorian, on the other hand, is more reckless with himself. Interpret that as you wish.”

Conversation ended, Bull left for his own room, to put his reports away, and then to the tavern.

Dorian was there, drinking, and they spent some time playing cards with Blackwall and Sera and several Chargers. Bull contemplated bringing up Trevelyan, but in the end he didn’t, and Dorian offered nothing more on that topic either. It wasn’t ideal—there had been another request for more specific details on the altus, and Bull had nothing to add—but it was a damn enjoyable night just the same.

 

\--

 

The Inquisitor took off for the Storm Coast the day after he returned from Orlais, and Dorian was quite uninvited. He certainly understood why, but it was still disappointing. He barely got to see Maxwell, except in passing, and then off he went, taking Bull, Vivienne, and Sera. Dorian winced to imagine the travelling conversations.

“Making faces isn’t going to magically reveal a move that will allow you to win this one,” Cullen wryly observed.

Smile instantly back in place, Doran shook his head. “Your pardon. My mind was wandering.”

“Have a care about that. You’re already losing rather miserably.”

Cullen was gloating—therefore, he deserved some retaliation. “Can I be blamed? Alone with such a dashing man, how can I help but imagine other games we could be playing? I’m so much more skilled at those that involve less armor and clothing…”

“Yes, yes, I gathered your meaning, no need to elaborate.”

_How disappointing._ Cullen didn’t even flush over such comments anymore. For such a good Chantry boy, it was remarkably difficult to make him squirm. _Nothing to do but cheat again, I suppose_.

 

\--

 

Maxwell was gone again as soon as he got back, and this time it was probably on purpose, to avoid the ramifications of letting the Qunari alliance fall through. He skipped off with Solas, Varric, and Cole, and Dorian couldn’t find Sera—probably being welcomed home by Dagna somewhere—so he was left with only Vivienne to tell him what had happened.

She complied, with her usual amount of condescension, and explained the whole fiasco.

“They declared him Tal-Vashoth? Just like that?” In all Tevinter’s literature, there was no mention of the Qun kicking people out. Tal-Vashoth were rebels with a dangerous lust for violence; they left the Qun to steal and kill and live as wildly as they could. “But I thought he wished to remain under the Qun?”

“Apparently only to a point, darling, and this was a test of loyalty that the Bull, in their eyes, has failed.”

“Because he wouldn’t sacrifice his men?”

Vivienne placed her teacup silently in its saucer. “I think the vital point is unquestioning obedience, rather than his company’s fate. The Inquisitor felt that the mercenaries were a more valuable asset than the most formidable naval fleet in Thedas. Not that I mourn the loss of an alliance with the Qun, precisely, but from a purely pragmatic view, the Inquisition is weaker than it could have been, thanks to this.”

“Maxwell cares about his people; that’s an admirable quality in a leader,” Dorian shot back, almost too quickly.

Vivienne arched an eyebrow at him. “Indeed, my dear, the Inquisitor has many admirable qualities, but that does not mean he is infallible. I would suggest you remember that he is a man as capable of making mistakes as any other.”

Dorian saw her meaning and had no interest in discussing that matter with her. Instead, he calmly changed the subject. “And how is our new Tal-Vashoth handling all this?”

A furrow appeared in Vivienne’s brow, just for a moment. “It’s impossible to say, my dear. He’s made a profession out of performance. I dare say if he is suffering over this, we shall never see any indication of it.”

“Indeed.”

Dorian left the elegant tea setting shortly thereafter. His next stop was the tavern—coarse wooden tables and heavy tankards of ale.

He had no reason to care, and nothing much to offer, but…well, Maxwell wasn’t back yet. Perhaps a drink shared between outcasts…

Bull was in his usual spot, nothing to indicate any change as Dorian strolled up. “Dorian. How’s it going?”

Dorian sat, placing one of the tankards he’d purchased in front of Bull and drinking deeply from the other. Then he delicately wiped the foam from his moustache. “I’d thought to ask _you_ that, but perhaps we might skip the maudlin reflections and just have a drink. One pariah to another, yes?”

There was a silent pause as Bull just stared at the tankard in front of him, his face impassive. Dorian made a mental note to leave the labels out from now on—no need to remind him what he was or wasn’t anymore; Bull knew. Then, one side of Bull’s mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Thanks, big guy.” Bull raised the ale and toasted: “To drinking!”

A whole lot of drinking later, Cabot kicked them out—the last ones to leave, long after closing time.

Neither of them were very steady on their feet, but Dorian was deeply certain in his own mind that he had surer footing than the Bull did, so he made every effort to be the gentleman and help Bull get back to his room. The process was a slow one, with much stumbling, and Dorian found himself half-supporting Bull as they climbed to the ramparts. That this put him in contact with a lot of shockingly warm skin was…well.

_He smells…_ Not at all like Dorian remembered from traveling and fighting together. Stale sweat and dried blood had been all he noticed before, but now… _He’s not supposed to smell good._ Warm and musky and strange, but not a bad strange—the sort of strange he wanted to keep inhaling until he could place it, or until it became familiar, maybe…

Dorian swallowed. Maker, he wished Maxwell were here. “Ah, just a little further…there we are. Your door, Ser Iron Bull, and I hope you haven’t locked yourself out.”

“Mmmmh. Door’s always open, Dorian, you know that.”

“Savage.” He smiled as he said it, though, and propped Bull against the wall. Then, as Bull kept missing the handle, Dorian hauled the door open for him and stood back to let Bull shuffle inside.

“Hey, Dorian?” Bull leaned against the doorframe and blinked dizzily at him.

“Mmm?”

“Thanks.”

Affecting regal benevolence—hopefully—Dorian straightened up. “Never let it be said that Dorian Pavus forgets a kindness. I believe I owed you quite a few drinks; this is nothing but the settling of a debt.”

“Still. Thanks.”

He sniffed. “Well. You are quite welcome. Good night, Iron Bull.”

Unfortunately, as Dorian made to turn, he swayed badly—having forgotten to move slowly and carefully—and the next moment he crashed into a very broad, warm chest. Large arms caught him and kept him from falling all the way to the floor. “Your pardon…” Dorian began, but then he made the mistake of looking up.

Half in shadow and half in moonlight, there was Bull’s face—looking at him. There was something raw about his expression that Dorian wasn’t equipped to deal with in the moment, so instead, he relaxed into the Bull’s arms, and then they were kissing.

It wasn’t giddy and thrilling like Maxwell’s kiss—it was something else entirely. Bull’s tongue in his mouth, the flavor of alcohol and need, the burn of his lips upon Dorian’s…everything hit him like a runaway fireball. He could feel his heartbeat, hard and thudding, through every inch of his body.

Dorian _wanted_.

Still, it wasn’t merely a lustful kiss—he knew those very well, too. It had an edge of exhilaration, like tasting the forbidden, but at the same time it overpowered his mind with one thought— _more_.

Their gasped breaths mingled as their mouths just barely parted. They hesitated, and Dorian just began to lean in again…when Bull suddenly pulled back and straightened up. “Sorry,” he mumbled, hands steadying Dorian before letting go of him entirely. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…I mean, maybe, but…” He shook his head. “Too drunk. Sorry.”

“Mm.” Dorian swallowed. Nodded. Turned—slowly—and left.

He wobbled all the way back to his room, and didn’t think about anything until he woke the next day with a headache and soiled smallclothes.

 

\--

 

Bull was hung over, but the Chargers had a mission, so he went. He didn’t see Dorian beforehand, and they returned a week later—just ahead of Trevelyan.

The Inquisitor was loudly declaring his wish to remain in Skyhold for two days together, but upon the conclusion of his first war room meeting, he fell sullenly silent on that point again. He showed up at Bull’s door later that day, asking him if he could be ready to leave in the morning. They apparently had urgent business in Val Royeaux.

He didn’t spend too long in the tavern that night, but Bull did linger a little later than he’d planned. He couldn’t help hoping Dorian would show up. He didn’t know what to say, exactly—was sort of hoping the ‘Vint would give him some clues to go by. But Dorian didn’t show, and Bull didn’t go looking for him. Maxwell was around, and Bull was, perhaps, just a little bit afraid to find them together. He told himself his reluctance was on account of not wanting to interrupt or spoil anything for either of them. 

He told himself.

Then he left at dawn with the Inquisitor’s party, and he was happy to have something to do, happy for a bit of fighting…and happy that Maxwell didn’t smell like anyone but himself.

Vivienne was traveling with them this time. Bull had started the respectful, obedient behavior around her because he knew she’d like it, she’d relish having a big brute like him jump at the snap of her fingers…and she’d let her guard down around him if she felt like she had the power, because that was what she _wanted_. He didn’t know if his reports on Madam de Fer had been used by the Ben-Hassrath for anything significant; all he knew was that he didn’t have reports to write anymore, and if he wanted to stop acting like a trained mabari pup, now was probably the time.

“Iron Bull, did you clean your weapon after that last fight?”

No, of course not. After all, he was really hoping there was something else waiting to attack them just around the next bend in the road—fighting, protecting his companions, did wonders for his mental state. But his excuses fell on deaf ears, and—out of habit more than anything else—he finally grumbled, “I’ll go clean it now.”

“Thank you, darling.”

Two fights later—and two cleanings of his axe—he tried to point that out. “You know, if the blood doesn’t get a chance to dry between uses, there’s really no benefit to cleaning it off.” It was a half-hearted attempt to assert a little independence, maybe warn the lady so she wasn’t shocked when he dropped the obedient act. He expected a stern response—Madam de Fer trying to whip him back into line, so to speak.

“My dear Iron Bull, if you wouldn’t charge after every halfway threatening wild animal, there _would_ be a bit more time between battles.”

“Oh. Uh…sorry ma’am.”

“Not at all, darling.” Then, a probing look. “However, I do wonder at your unusual alacrity for battle today.”

“I’ve always liked fighting.”

“Yes, dear, but this is still more than usual for you. Are you quite well?”

Solas, of all people, decided to interject then. “Perhaps our recently turned Tal-Vashoth companion enjoys having a task at hand to focus upon.” A placid glance. “Is that a fair assessment, Iron Bull?”

He sighed. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to keep active. Fighting gives me something clear to focus on.”

“Of course, dear.” Nothing but gentleness and understanding. _Weird_ , Bull thought. _That wasn’t her usual act. Wouldn’t have guessed she really cared._

“Perhaps another focus, when there is no imminent fighting to be done?” Solas offered.

“Like what?”

“King’s pawn to E4.”

And that was even stranger. There had never been a friendly word between them; Bull’s file on Solas had contained: “Apostate elven mage, no specific training, Fade expert, hates the Qun.” If he’d been ordered to learn more than that, he had planned to start asking others what they knew; he wasn’t going to get much out of Solas himself.

And now here the elf was, trying to _help_. And he continued trying to help all the way to Val Royeaux—and the strangest thing of all was that he _did_. Having something to think about that followed rules he understood make Bull feel more at ease than he had since before the Storm Coast.

Vivienne took him shopping in Val Royeaux, and—just to be agreeable—Bull let her dress him up and order the tailor around. They also met Lady Montilyet in the city, and she and Trevelyan disappeared somewhere together.

When they came back, the Inquisitor was…different.

All the way back to Skyhold, he was…strangely cheerful, and constantly inattentive to his surroundings. Bull wasn’t sure why, exactly. Vivienne clearly noticed, and she seemed unsurprised, but he didn’t get a chance to talk to her privately, away from Trevelyan, while they were on the road.

_When we get back to Skyhold_ , he promised himself. _Maybe she can explain this for me_.

Then he remembered that he didn’t need an explanation, because he didn’t have to report on the Inquisitor to the Ben-Hassrath anymore. 

_Still_. Maybe he’d ask anyway. Just out of curiosity.

 

\--

 

Dorian waited and waited, and when the Inquisitor’s party finally returned, he was ready. He had made up his mind what he would do, and he did it—with only one glass of liquid courage, too.

He knocked on Maxwell’s door shortly after the Inquisitor had retired for the night, and when Maxwell let him in, Dorian made a very charming, very clear offer to engage in “something more…primal.”

Maxwell had smiled to see him arrive, but as he understood the proposition, his smile froze. Dorian felt his stomach clench nervously.

“Oh.” Maxwell stared at him, his smile now almost a wince. “Oh, you…that is, um…huh.” Then the unbearably handsome Inquisitor flushed, hunching like a schoolboy caught misbehaving. “Maker, Dorian, if you had asked me that a couple weeks ago…” His eyes scanned Dorian, regretful.

“Truly?” He pulled on his best mask and affected casual curiosity. “But not now? Have I done something to offend?”

“No, no!” Regret, apology, reaching for him, hands on his arms. “No, you’ve done nothing, Dorian, I still like you very much, and…and I would enjoy it, really I would. I just…don’t think it would be fair to you, when I, um, have feelings for…someone else.”

_Kaffas. I knew it._ Dorian’s heart ached. “Someone such as…our delightful lady ambassador?”

Maxwell blushed so obviously Dorian felt sick, but his smile didn’t falter. “Josephine…she’s…” He broke off with a sigh that became a little laugh. “I can’t explain it at all! She’s such a remarkable woman. I mean, she’s always been beautiful, but the more I talk to her…” Another sigh. Maxwell turned away, and Dorian let him go. The young man paced with a nervous energy. “I mean, everyone thinks she’s frightening, and her competence in business and politics truly is intimidating, but at the same time she has such a tender heart, and she’s so sweet, and sassy, and I don’t know what to do with myself but I want to be around her all the time, and…!” He stopped suddenly, seeing Dorian still listening. The energy and happiness faded again, and Maxwell returned and took his hands. Dorian could feel the calluses from his daggers in the gentle touch. “I’m so sorry, Dorian. I hope you don’t feel I led you on, I…I really was sincere. You are a very handsome man, and charming, and I wanted…” He trailed off, apologetically shrugging. “Well. You know.”

_Don’t offer…_ “I understand. And I wouldn’t mind, you know, even if it were just for a bit of fun.” _Kaffas_.

But Maxwell shook his head. “Just for fun is…fine, usually. But not…like this. Not when there’s someone…”

“Someone else you love?”

Regret mingled with silly happiness—and it wasn’t fair that Maxwell Trevelyan could make such a foolish expression look so lovely. “Yes. I just couldn’t do that to you, Dorian.”

_Time to cut my losses_. Dorian nodded. “You are a very good man, Inquisitor.” Then, he swept back in a deep bow and brushed the faintest kiss over Maxwell’s knuckles. “And I hope you will find happiness with Lady Montilyet.”

“Thank you.” Spoken softly, and then Dorian turned to go.

Cole was standing at the foot of the stairs, and for once, he didn’t start rambling some disjointed alliteration. He only looked at Dorian, and Dorian shrugged, smiling sadly. “He’s still better than any other man I’ve known. Every last one of _them_ would have told me _after_ he took what he wanted.”

“Rilienus all over again.”

His smile was pained, bitter. “It does seem I’m developing a habit of losing the man I care for to the charms of a fair lady.”

“Care more carefully.”

Dorian opened his mouth to argue, but Cole was gone.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

“That staff’s in pretty good shape, Dorian.” He winked. “You spend a lot of time polishing it?”

“Ahh.” A sigh was all he got for that one—a sigh that perfectly expressed rolling eyes and _“your painful, peasant attempts at wit bore me”_ without Dorian having to lower himself to such plebian words and mannerisms.

_Damn._ It was disappointing not to get sniped at. Better luck next time.

Traveling together was becoming more frequent. Trevelyan hadn’t asked Dorian along much before this. Krem said it was because fighting alongside someone you were attracted to was a bad idea. Led to mistakes in battle, messed with your focus. And now, apparently, that was no longer a concern, so Dorian was becoming the favored mage in their parties, and Bull was still getting the call because the boss was worried about him, wanted to make sure he had plenty of shit to do.

So Bull and Dorian were spending a lot more time on the road together. And Bull was thinking Krem was wrong this time, because fighting with Dorian wasn’t difficult at all. It was hot, watching what Dorian could do, but it didn’t distract him. It sharpened his focus even more, looking for those moments when he could swing just right and turn their attack into a combined assault of pure power and beauty.

They were starting to harmonize on the battlefield in ways that did things to Bull’s dick.

A shout—a group ahead had spotted them. Looked like Venatori, or maybe… _Who cares? Bad guys!_

It was a good battle. Fighting and taking guys apart was always fun, but when lightning and fire were raining down around you? _Ataashi…_

“Nice work with the magic back there Dorian. You’re pretty good at blowing guys up.”

“It’s significantly more impressive than hitting them with a sharp piece of metal.” This, apparently, was how Dorian accepted a compliment.

“Hey, woah, let’s not get crazy.” Dorian tossed his head and picked up the pace, creating distance…and a nice rear view.

They hadn’t “talked.”

Really, there had been no opportunity. Time in Skyhold had been scant lately; time together on the road was plentiful, but there was no privacy, and Bull didn’t need Ben-Hassrath skills to figure out that Dorian probably didn’t want to discuss any incredibly hot drunken kissing with the rest of their companions all sitting around listening.

Dorian also hadn’t been to the tavern lately. Bull didn’t know when things had decisively ended between him and the boss, but one of Trevelyan’s good qualities was honesty, so he guessed the Inquisitor hadn’t made a move with Josephine until he’d cleared things up with Dorian. So Dorian probably knew before the rest of Skyhold heard, but he’d decided to handle this one privately. Bull fully intended to respect that.

“Watch where you’re pointing that thing!” This, as Dorian ducked to avoid the blade of his axe when the narrowing trail pushing them a little too close together. Not that Dorian was really in danger; he had about two feet of clearance, and Bull was well aware of every inch. He had horns—he was used to watching out for the unwitting who got too close.

However, explaining all that wouldn’t be fun at all, so instead Bull just grinned. “Dirty!”

“ _Vishante kaffas_ , I meant your weapon!”

_There_ it was. That fire, that snapping, sparking heat. _Damn_ , that was exciting. This was making up for all the bad shit that had happened lately, because Bull had never really flirted with the ‘Vint before. The boss had taken a shine to him pretty quickly, and Bull had a job to do at the time—get in good with the Inquisitor and learn everything he could. Humans could get territorial about the people they had sex with, and Bull wasn’t always sure where those lines were. So, he’d just made a habit of not flirting if he could tell someone else had an interest there; and until now, someone very important had been interested in Dorian.

Now, all bets were off, and at the risk of overdoing it, Bull was having fun making up for lost time.

“Oh, pardon me. I do have a pretty _big_ weapon. You could hold it some time, if you wanted. Get a feel for the weight, the size…”

He stopped abruptly when a small bolt of very hot lightning zapped past his face and fried a nearby tree—probably left a little blister on his nose, too, it was that close. Dorian, calm and regal as could be, declared, “I think not. Qunari weapons may be big, but size will not guarantee your safety. I might accidentally damage your _weapon_ ,” he flicked his fingers as though studying his trimmed nails, and more sparks darted along their elegant lengths, “and we wouldn’t want that.”

_Hot_.

Bull wondered if Dorian dyed his hair. There was a real streak of redheaded temper in there. 

 

\--

 

“These big, muscled hands could tear those robes off while you struggled, helpless in my grip. I’d pin you down, and as you gripped my horns, I. Would. _Conquer_. You.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Dorian put his book down. “Cole, your impression of the Bull is absolutely terrible. Please never do it again.”

“Sorry, Dorian. But you kept thinking it, dreaming it, hearing it…”

“Yes yes, all right.”

It was true. Several weeks of traveling on various missions, and the Bull had decided to get painfully, inescapably clear about his intentions. Two weeks later, finally back in Skyhold for a short rest, and Dorian _still_ couldn’t get it out of his mind.

Or rather, there was one specific part he couldn’t get out of his mind.

It wasn’t the pinning and it wasn’t the conquering, though admittedly Dorian liked big men who could do both. And it certainly wasn’t the threat to his beautiful robes—although, again, Dorian had cherished a few fantasies about the Inquisitor tearing his clothes off, but that had been early on, when he was stuck wearing some functional but not at all attractive robes purely for the practical benefits.

“Gripping, holding, hanging from wide, rough horns…”

“Honestly Cole, please!” Dorian snapped the book closed and turned to glare at the spirit. He huffed. “You _can_ sense when people are feeling…arousal? Desire? Yes?”

“Yes.” A slow blink. “Warm, wanting, tingling, breathless, burning in the belly…”

“Quite so,” Dorian cut him off. “Now, try to remember this—whenever you sense people feeling that way, you should definitely _not_ speak what they are thinking about. In fact, you should try your best not to even _hear_ those thoughts. They are private. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I understand _private_ ,” Cole cocked his head. “But it’s hard. Sometimes the wanting is so strong, it calls me like a hurt. I want to help you, Dorian. You wouldn’t let me help with Maxwell; can’t I help you this time?”

Taking a deep breath, Dorian composed himself. That ache was nearly two months old, and really, it was nearly gone. He was a little surprised at how quickly his dashed hopes had faded. Rilienus had stung so much longer…but perhaps one grew seasoned by disappointment. Who knew? Either way, it was true that Cole had been terribly distressed at first. Dorian had been forced to have a talk with him, because Cole’s wish to help was making him offer things he shouldn’t, and Dorian did not want to become a danger to Cole’s very nature. Solas had been most helpful—he’d convinced the Inquisitor to take himself and Cole away from Skyhold for a while, without giving away the true reason. By the time they returned, Dorian had dealt with the worst of the pain, and Solas had probably given Cole some good advice to help him see why it was vital that he not lose himself in trying to help another.

“Cole, I’m fine. I didn’t _need_ your help with…the Inquisitor. I recovered on my own. Sometimes we humans need to do that. It makes us strong.”

“Will thinking about The Iron Bull’s horns make you strong?”

“Eh…” Dorian floundered. “Ah, perhaps.”

“But it always makes you feel so _weak…_ ”

“Enough! This…I can’t begin to explain it right now. Go help someone else, I’m desperately in need of _silence_.”

Cole nodded and was gone, but the subject lingered.

_And as you gripped my horns…_

The trouble was, the idea was entirely new. He’d never done a thing like that. Never bedded a qunari, after all, so there had never been any opportunity.

The trouble also was, Dorian could _so easily_ picture it.

He could imagine the thick, rough, solid horns in his hands, could feel himself gripping them so tight his palms would begin to sting. Then he’d hold on and lean back, holding himself up by those horns…and the Bull would take half his weight with his neck and back muscles alone. The thought of that, the memory of watching Bull’s muscles bunch and tighten in battle…made Dorian shiver.

He wondered if Bull could hold him up entirely, those massive hands under his thighs and arse, carrying his weight while Dorian held on to his horns and Bull thrust up into him so hard, so powerfully that it overwhelmed him. He imagined his arms would feel limp and useless after something like that—maybe every inch of his body would ache with exhaustion and a bone-deep satisfaction.

_As you gripped my horns…_

Dorian heard a snort and startled, straightening up suddenly and yanking his thumb away from his mouth, embarrassed to realize he’d been chewing the nail. Sera was right there in front of him, giving him an utterly blatant smirk.

“Thinkin about jousting?”

“I’m _thinking_ ,” Dorian sighed, “about locking myself in my room to avoid these _interruptions_.” Not that it would help, he reflected. Neither Cole nor Sera were deterred by locks.

“Nah,” Sera dismissed with a flapping hand. “You’re thinkin about bumpin naughty bits with someone. And _I_ bet _I_ know who, too!”

“I assure you…”

“ _You’ve_ got a thing for Bull! _His_ thing in _your_ thing… _doing_ things. _You_ want to see what all the fuss is about.”

“Sera…”

“Look Dorian, I don’t know when you had your last tumble, yeah? But you _need_ one. I _always_ know. But Bull says he can’t slam you up against a wall unless you asks him to, so…”

Dorian choked. He felt faint. “Of course…naturally you’ve discussed my level of sexual activity with Iron Bull. Why should anything in Skyhold be considered personal?

“Oh, shut it.” Sera hopped to her feet. “Go get your Qun-y cherry popped before I have to get my beehive.” As if that made her point perfectly, Sera vanished.

Doggedly, Dorian returned to his book, determined to forget both horns and his recently dubbed “qunari virginity.”

It wasn’t fifteen minutes before Maxwell Trevelyan showed up. _Oh, Maker._

_Smile brightly_. “I heard a little rumor about you. Someone’s been doing some training—as an assassin, no less.”

The Inquisitor was, quite unfairly, adorable as he discussed his training—earnest in his desire to do his job better, humble in his accomplishments so far. That little thread of longing left in Dorian tugged his heart with every sweet smile. He envied Josephine, and he was nowhere near a good enough man to feel guilty about it either. She had the heart of such a wonderful man; she should be prepared for some envy.

“In any case, you didn’t come to discuss your dagger lessons with a mage. It there something I can help with?”

The Inquisitor grinned. “Indeed. I’ve a special mission and I’d like you to come. It involves fine wine, food, music, politics, high society, and probably murderous plotting. You should be brilliant for it.”

Eyebrows raised, Dorian hummed. “It sounds too good to be true. What’s the catch?”

The Inquisitor shrugged. “Orlesians.”

Dorian waved that off. “The wine alone should make up for that. Anything else?”

A slight wince. “You’ll have to wear red…”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “Well…that isn’t exactly good to hear, but a man of my incredible beauty can make even a garish color look appealing.”

“…Shoulder pads.”

Dorian’s expression froze in horror. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

 

\--

 

The Chargers’ training had been interrupted so many times this afternoon that Bull was beginning to wonder if he should just start running around like the boss, paying everyone a visit for a quick chat and making sure they didn’t need anything. _Then_ start his boys on their drills. Maybe that was why Trevelyan did it—to avoid interruptions later.

Thank his luck for Krem—always ready to take over giving orders while Bull dealt with another visitor.

First it had been Sera, scooping pie into her mouth while prodding him with innuendos and then abruptly asking when he was planning to plow Dorian Pavus into the nearest horizontal—or vertical—surface.

Then it was Cole, perching on a dummy in defiance of gravity and alliterating cryptically about wants, needs, and fears. Bull wanted to help the kid get his head out of the clouds and work better with people, but he was a bit busy at the moment. Cole eventually vanished.

After that, the boss swung by to discuss an upcoming mission. “I’d like you to bring the Chargers on this. Maker knows having a little backup nearby isn’t a bad idea, and there’s a chance we may have work for them after, depending on how things go.” An apologetic slap on the arm. “I’d bring you to the ball, but the situation is delicate, so I’m avoiding scandalous gossip this time. Cassandra, Vivienne, and Dorian will blend in better in the Winter Palace. Well,” he winced, “maybe not Dorian, once they hear ‘Tevinter,’ but he can handle that. Rejection doesn’t bother him.”

Bull blinked, his expression pleasant, blank, and frozen. “Sure, boss.” _After the thing with his father, after you dumped him for someone else…_ Of course, Trevelyan probably wasn’t thinking in _personal_ terms; he was thinking in the context of high society. Still, it seemed to Bull to be an awfully glib thing to say. _Do you even really know if it bothers him or not?_ Maybe the Inquisitor was also an insensitive ass. Still better than if he’d meant to be cruel, which Bull knew he hadn’t—even so… “We traveling with your group or arriving separate?”

“We’ll travel there together, but then split outside Val Royeaux. We don’t want to show up with anything that could be construed as military force; things are volatile enough as it is. You’ll bring the Chargers in a little later. I’ll have Josephine book you into the inn closest to the palace—which should be very nice accommodations. Not the Winter Palace itself, but I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Sounds good boss. I’ll have the boys ready.”

“Excellent. We depart five days hence, at dawn as usual.”

Once the Inquisitor had gone, Krem joined him, standing side by side and surveying the drills.

“You could ask to stay in the palace if you like, Chief.”

“Trying to get rid of me, Krem de la Crème?” Bull slapped his back. “You know I won’t get between you and the barmaids.”

Krem snorted. “Just thought you might like to be closer to the Inquisitor’s group. More accessible, like. All that finery, and being away from all the eyes and ears around Skyhold…could make certain people more comfortable. Maybe somebody’d pay you a visit, if they had a good chance.”

Grinning, Bull rubbed his chin. “You think the Seeker will finally decide to share one of those rose-petal baths with me? I’m good with that…though I still might try to talk her into violets.”

Eyes rolling, Krem left to march down the line again and bark more orders.

As if on cue, Cassandra appeared. She was stomping across the yard like she was out for blood—and headed straight for Bull.

_Nah…humans don’t hear that good…_

Still not knowing what the problem was, Bull braced for a lashing—whether verbal or physical, he wasn’t sure.

Instead, the Seeker marched straight up to him, then stopped and stiffly turned to stand beside him, in Krem’s recently vacated spot. Her posture was tight and stiff, her hands clasped together like she was trying not to punch someone, and her scowl was…well, a terrifying thing of beauty.

“Something wrong, Seeker?” Bull ventured carefully. He didn’t _think_ he’d done anything to earn her ire, but she was clearly upset about _something_ , and he’d help if he could.

She cleared her throat. Swept her eyes over the Chargers. Finally glanced at him, nervously. “I…enjoy fighting at your side, Bull. I respect your abilities. And…I hope I may consider you…a friend.”

“Sure. Same here.” _Hm. Unexpected._

“You must know that there are some matters in which I am not the most experienced…nor the most qualified to offer advice. However, when a friend is suffering, one does what one can.”

“Yeah…” Bull’s mind was already busily ticking through everyone he knew, trying to imagine who Cassandra could be talking about.

“And so…allow me to say…you have my support.”

Bull blinked. “Pardon?”

“If you truly love each other, you should be happy, no matter who objects. Such love is worth fighting for. And if there is ever anything a friend can do to help, you have only to ask.” She straightened even further, letting out a sharp exhale. “There. That is all I wished to say.” With a curt nod, the Seeker turned and was gone.

Bull was left rooted in place by his utter bewilderment…until he heard a raspy chuckle some distance behind him. He turned and looked, but saw no one. However, his ears tracked the laughter easily, and Bull soon discovered Varric on the other side of a low wall, leaning against the stone and red in the face from laughter.

“Alright…not sure I want to know, but— _who_ am I supposed to be in love with?”

Varric coughed, trying to get a hold of himself. “Don’t ask me, Tiny. I didn’t tell her anything.”

Bull crossed his arms over his chest. “Right. And you being here right now is just a big coincidence. Come on, Varric. No Ben-Hassrath would buy that.”

“Honest—I didn’t.” Varric shrugged, still grinning. “I am working on a short novel, though. It’s possible the Seeker caught a glimpse of the manuscript.” He pulled a little bound journal out. Bull took it, but didn’t need to read further than the first page.

“ _The Magister’s Qunari Lover?_ ” Under that was a tag line: “Two worlds tearing them apart: Tevinter and Qunari, with only love to keep them together.” Bull sighed at the final caption. “‘ _Inspired by a true story_ ’ Varric? Really?”

More muffled chuckling. “I guess she put a few things together and came up with her own version of what’s going on.”

Dorian would probably incinerate the little book in a puff of flame, Bull was sure, but he handed it back to the owner, all patience and tolerance. “Sorry to disappoint, but there _is_ no story to be inspired by. You’re making the whole thing up.”

“Am I, Tiny?” Varric tucked the book away again. “‘Inspired by’ doesn’t need much—just an idea. And you two have been eyeing each other for long enough to give _everybody_ that particular idea. I’m only surprised _you_ seem to have missed it.”

“Since when does _looking_ mean ‘planning to elope’?” Bull shook his head. He was used to being a little confused by the people outside the Qun, but this was a whole new level of weird.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything about eloping. Just pointing out that there’s been a _lot_ of _looking_.”

“I didn’t say there wasn’t, and it’s no secret as far as I’m concerned. I’d be happy to have sex with Dorian any time, if he wanted it. But he hasn’t asked, so there’s nothing going on.” He narrowed his eye at Varric. “Give the guy a break, Varric. He has enough crap to deal with. He doesn’t need half of Skyhold planning his wedding.”

Unapologetically shrugging, Varric clarified, “Hey, I’m not publishing. Yet. It’s just an outline and some notes. I’m waiting until it happens, so I can get some details to add in. For realism.” He winked. “And I didn’t show the Seeker on purpose, I just caught her snooping through my writing. I’ll go explain to her, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Please do.” Not that Bull cared, but Dorian might have a stroke if this continued, and he’d be a lot less hot if he were dead.

With that, Bull turned back to the training grounds, hoping he could _finally_ focus on his boys before training finished for the day.

Within five minutes, Vivienne was strolling regally up to him. Bull managed to suppress his growl, turn it into an exasperated sigh instead. “Not you, too.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ma’am, if you’re here to tell me I should be having sex with Dorian, I really think I’ve heard that enough for one day.”

A regally arched eyebrow was Vivienne’s only concession to surprise. “Actually, I was coming to tell you that the suit arrived from Val Royeaux this morning. Join me for tea this afternoon and we’ll make sure it still fits you.”

“Oh.” Bull cleared his throat. “Sure, sounds good.” With only the slightest downward tilt of her chin, Vivienne indicated her opinion, and Bull quickly amended, “Uh, I mean, yes ma’am.” Her expression relaxed to indicate satisfaction. 

“As for Dorian,” she pronounced, and Bull straightened up again, slightly. “Of course, it’s none of my business with whom you pass your time, darling, but if opinions are requested, I would rather you did _not_ engage in any intimate dalliances with our resident Tevinter. I shouldn’t like to see you hurt.”

That was…surprising. “Um, why do you think sleeping with Dorian would hurt me?”

With a cool glance, Vivienne calmly explained, “You have a protective streak a mile wide, my dear, and you tend to become attached to those who inspire those protective feelings. As a Tevinter in the South, Dorian provides ample opportunity for that very situation to arise.”

“So you think I’d get too attached.”

A single dip forward of her head—this time, an affirmative one. “Your attachment would not necessarily be a problem. Maker knows you deserve happiness as much as anyone. But Dorian is a member of the nobility— _Tevinter_ nobility, but that is not the point—and though he may be happily living beneath his class at the moment, it cannot continue forever. Eventually, he must return to the world in which he was born…” Her gaze met Bull’s, gentle but firm, “leaving you behind.”

This was all very unexpected. Usually, Vivienne’s appearance of kindness was an act—even toward Bull. She fooled some people, but wasn’t good enough to fool a Ben-Hassrath. Maybe he was getting soft…or maybe there was a sliver of genuine kindness in her somewhere. Perhaps that was why he was still playing the _imekari_ around her. He didn’t need to, but…well, it didn’t hurt.

“So…you think I shouldn’t have sex with Dorian because he’ll break my heart.” Vivienne just hummed—she wasn’t in the habit of repeating herself. Bull shook his head. “No offense, ma’am, but Dorian’s pretty badass. Have you seen him fight? He’s not helpless, and I don’t feel any need to protect him.”

Undeterred, Madam de Fer just gave him a steady look. “Don’t you? I made no mention of battles, darling. There are injuries that combat skills cannot defend against.”

With that, Vivienne seemed to have nothing more to say, and she departed, leaving Bull with his Chargers just as the hour for calling it quits arrived. With a less-than-enthused huff, Bull took over just to dismiss everyone. He hadn’t been able to teach his boys a thing today, or to check on their progress and see how everyone was doing. He’d have to ask Krem to update him.

Luckily, Krem asked to spar, which gave Bull a nice opportunity to feel useful after all, even if only to his lieutenant.

 

\--

 

Dorian sipped his wine and observed the dancers. He’d already done quite a bit of dancing, but when the Inquisitor led his pretty Antivan ambassador out onto the dance floor, Dorian retreated to drink and watch.

They’d already had a most exciting evening, and the sneaking around and fighting had been a welcome respite from the Orlesians. All that was concluded now, and Dorian was taking advantage of his first access to good wine since coming south. Not that it was the _same_ —Tevinter vintages would always taste best to him, and Orlesians did seem to like to overcrowd their wines with too many flavors. Still, it was strong and went down delightfully smooth, and with all the threats and machinations dealt with, Dorian could happily indulge. 

“Josie looks happy,” a soft voice commented, and Dorian glanced over, unsure how long Leliana had been standing there. He didn’t startle, of course—he had too much good breeding for that, not to mention the extra practice in equanimity that living near Cole provided.

Instead, he returned his eyes to the dance floor, where Inquisitor Trevelyan was being dashing, with his beloved beauty on his arm. The court was all admiration as they watched, and Dorian felt very…hollow. “She should be,” he answered with a tired smile. “The most powerful, charming, sought-after man in Thedas loves her. That’s cause enough for happiness, surely.”

“Are you jealous?” Just as quietly asked, with a sidelong glance. Dorian sighed.

“A little, perhaps.”

“She was not trying to steal him from you.”

Dorian _tsked_. “Oh, I know, and it’s not that. It’s more her general condition I envy than the specific person involved.”

“I see.” Leliana fell silent for a few moments, then said only, “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” before she slipped away.

Dorian took another glass of wine, determined to do just that. He wouldn’t have minded a few more dances, even, but a rather ostentatious Orlesian had begun trying to monopolize him, and Dorian had only been able to free himself by insisting that he was too tired for any more dancing. Even that hadn’t freed him from the man’s presence; that was why he was in a shadowed corner now, alone with his wine. He’d slipped away and was keeping out of sight—not that he even understood his own reasons why. The man was obnoxious, but clearly not a _bad_ man. Dorian really had no reason to act so coy; if someone wanted him, he could always spend the night with him. He had never been in the habit of turning such an offer down, and at present it had been an eternity since he’d last had sex. He could go back out there, be found within five minutes…

Or he could stay right here and drink wine.

Dorian emptied his glass and contemplated the bottle. There was a tipping point, when drinking wine, and he always felt it when he was there. It was the moment when he was still quite capable of stopping, but if he took another glass, by the time that one was gone he would probably take another without thinking about it. Then he’d consider stopping, but by that point he wouldn’t care, and he’d have another glass, and after that he wouldn’t care about much at all. A few glasses later, he’d wake up in the morning to the sound of someone snoring, and he would probably never find his smallclothes in his rush to sneak out.

The pattern was so familiar from his licentious days that when Dorian had begun to clean his life up somewhat, he’d instituted a rule. Every time he stood upon the tipping point, _before_ he took that next glass of wine, he made himself drink a glass of water with lemon. He’d made far fewer mistakes since adopting that rule.

Orlais had no lemons, unfortunately. They had strawberries, and Dorian tried to make do, but the tang of citrus had become a familiar, friendly reminder. Without it, the water didn’t seem to work quite as well. It slowed him down a bit, but it didn’t do anything to curb his interest in another glass of wine.

So there Dorian was, hiding in the shadows of the ballroom, back to staring at the bottle of wine. It seemed to be showing him his future—the dark glass surface reflecting a vision of the rest of his night, not that Dorian needed the help. He knew exactly where he’d end up if he passed the tipping point and followed his old pattern—and it wasn’t anywhere within the Winter Palace.

Dorian poured himself another glass.

\--


	3. Chapter 3

The inn was nice—not luxurious like the Winter Palace, but clean and snug, with some charmingly Orlesian décor that set it above the pure functionality of cheaper inns. The inn’s tavern was still busy, despite the late hour. When Dorian arrived, it became obvious that at least half the patronage was owed to the Chargers. Bull had found himself a seat with his boys that gave him a view of the whole room, including every door and window, and with a solid stone wall at his back. _You can take the qunari out of the Ben-Hassrath, but you can’t take the Ben-Hassrath out of the qunari?_ Dorian blinked. _Yes, that’s right. It isn’t the other way around._

Dorian approached the group, still steady on his feet, even if his head was feeling light and a bit dizzy. Bull caught sight of him and his face broke into a wide, welcoming grin, but Krem saw him too, and was the one who spoke first. “Well, if it isn’t the altus, descended from the grand palace to join the rabble.”

Dorian swallowed, feeling heat in his cheeks, and summoned his faithful ally—bravado. With charm and grace, he announced, “Nothing to fear—the war is over, Inquisitor Trevelyan is a great success, the toast of Orlais, and so on. Everyone’s celebrating! Here,” he turned to Bull and extended the wine bottle he held, “I brought you something of quality, from the palace.”

Bull took it with a smile. “Thanks, big guy.” He uncorked it with a deft claw—Dorian really should be offended at such manners, not fascinated—and called for glasses. He poured himself some, and any of the Chargers who cared to partake. Dorian was silently amazed he hadn’t just dumped it into his tankard with the dregs of whatever ale had been in there.

Then, there was toasting to the Inquisition, to the united empire of Orlais, to many imaginative and unsavory fates for the former conspiring duchess, and to even worse fates for Corypheus. Dorian found himself provided with a tankard as well, which he happily drained. If he liked it better than the fine wine in the palace, he tried not to look too closely at that.

He was just drunk enough to cast aside his usual inhibitions, but not nearly as drunk as he might have been. Usually, following his pattern meant that he’d reach the point of near-blackout drunk before falling into bed with anyone willing and possessing a dick. This time, however, he hadn’t quite had the patience to make it through all that wine. The one glass past his tipping point had also taken away his interest in pretending that he was going to let some stuffy Orlesian drag him off for mediocre sex in a bed drowning in satin.

He knew damn well where he was going to end up, so he’d just skipped most of the drinking, slipped out of the ball, and come straight here—tipsy, impatient, and not interested in arguing with himself over any of it.

So he drank with the Bull, and he related the evening’s events in more detail than the broad strokes he’d used to inform the Chargers. Bull sipped his wine delicately, though the glass looked like a thimble in his giant— _Maker, so huge and strong_ —hands, and he asked questions and laughed at Dorian’s impressions of the various Orlesians he’d endured throughout the night.

After months of trying to keep his eyes from wandering, it was quite refreshing to let himself _look_ at Bull for a change. After all, Dorian was not interested in playing coy; not that attempting to do so would even work. Bull was an idiot if he hadn’t known why Dorian was there from the moment he walked into an inn he had no reason to visit—and Bull was absolutely not an idiot. So Dorian let himself look, for once, and _Maker, what a view._ He was so broad and massive—Dorian had been trying not to think about it for months. And it wasn’t fair, he thought, that someone so rough and scarred should have such sensually bowed lips. Lips that were warm, and softer than any part of the Bull really should be—oh, he remembered. He usually tried not to, but at the moment, Dorian was _remembering_ , really thinking about that kiss for the first time since it had happened. And that thing Bull had said…

“Something on my horns?” The low voice chuckled. Dorian blinked, realizing where he was looking now, as he imagined his hands on rough horn, gripping and…

Dorian smiled. “No, nothing…at the moment.” Bull grinned as Dorian held his gaze and leaned in conspiratorially. “May I tell you something _very_ important?”

“Sure, big guy.” 

Their shoulders brushed together as Dorian whispered, “I absolutely _loathe_ this uniform.”

Bull raised his eyebrow. “Really? It looks good on you…”

“Oh,” he murmured, “but think how much better it would look…in pieces. On the floor.”

A deep laugh. “Josephine will be pretty pissed.”

That hadn’t even entered Dorian’s mind, but the idea made him smile cheerfully. “Then my retribution will be complete.” He shifted toward Bull in his seat, and their legs touched. Neither of them pulled back. Dorian gave Bull one of his most seductive looks, then arched a questioning eyebrow.

With a heated look and a tip of his chin, Bull indicated the door before he rose to depart, Dorian joined him, flipping a rude gesture at the hooting Chargers. He didn’t care. _Discretion_ wasn’t in Bull’s Common vocabulary— _Perhaps it isn’t even a word in Qunlat?_ —and he would probably tell everyone tomorrow. And then Dorian would admit it, rate Bull’s performance, give a few suggestions for improvement, and move on. No one kept track of who the Bull had fucked anymore; most of Skyhold thought he and Dorian had already done it. Besides, Dorian was making Bad Choices tonight, and he was going to make them with style.

 

\--

 

Dorian let Bull give him a watchword—he said it was bad manners, where he came from, to re-use words with different partners, but Bull wasn’t entirely buying it. Didn’t seem too important, though—the ‘Vint followed him into his room and toed off his boots…then stood, frowning for a moment as he watched Bull sit and remove one boot before attempting the one with the brace. When Bull began his habitual process of dragging that leg up to rest on the other knee so he could reach the brace, Dorian grew suddenly impatient. 

“Oh, stop that. Here.” Before Bull could say anything, Dorian had knelt and made a quick examination of the brace, found the right straps and latches, and begun to unfasten it for him.

As Dorian dragged the brace and boot off, Bull smiled. “Thanks, big guy. You’re sweet.” Dorian glanced up, gray eyes nervous like he’d been caught for a moment before he melted into a confident, sensual smile. His hands began to run up Bull’s leg as he leaned closer, dipping toward Bull’s lap with a smirk. Bull just had time to catch his chin and prevent it. “Nice, but that’s not what you asked for.” He let a deep, full-chested growl into his voice, and watched Dorian’s pupils expand and his lips part on a shuddering sigh.

That was enough of a go-ahead for Bull to grab Dorian by the front of his fancy jacket. He paused just a moment, fingering the sash across the front, but Dorian only nodded, wide-eyed and smelling like desire.

So Bull ripped the sash in half.

Dorian moaned and reached for his belt, but Bull grabbed his hands, twisted them behind him and wrapped both wrists in one hand—the one with more fingers. The he gave Dorian a nice, savage snarl and ripped the gold shoulder caps off, one at a time. A whispered “Yes!” urged him on.

With a grin, Bull took the front of that jacket and just ripped it in half. Shiny buttons went flying, clattering and rolling on the floor. Dorian grunted, hips thrusting forward, seeking Bull’s thigh. He choked a little, but managed to spit the word “Barbarian!” at him, which sure sounded like _please, please more_ to Bull.

He could have shoved the jacket off, but instead he wrapped his arms around Dorian’s body and spread his hands over Dorian’s back. Dorian made a startled sound and his hands rested on Bull’s shoulders—warm, little things. _Nice_. Bull let his claws snag in fabric, and then pulled down, turning the back of the jacket into ribbons. Then he manhandled Dorian onto the bed, face down and gasping, and gave his trousers the same treatment.

As those came off in shreds, it bared the prettiest, roundest, most mouth-watering golden brown ass Bull had ever seen. Dorian’s silky white undershirt contrasted gorgeously with smooth caramel skin, and then Dorian got his knees up onto the bed and lifted his backside, and that shirt went sliding up his back, and _damn_. Bull thought his dick might tear a hole in his own pants, so he flicked his belt buckle open and dropped them. Then he grabbed the oil from the chest at the foot of the bed—always within easy reach.

Bull’s fingers were pretty thick—some men struggled with the first one. Dorian was tight— _fucking deliciously tight_ —he obviously hadn’t been fucked anytime recently. Even so, he opened up for Bull’s fingers beautifully, relaxing and stretching like it was second nature, _Like he was made to take my…take a cock._ “Shit…” he breathed. “Look at you. You want it bad.”

“Mmmm…oh, more give me _more._ ” Dorian’s whole body was shivering, twitching occasionally, pushing back onto Bull’s finger…and then _fingers_. The second one didn’t make Dorian pull back either—he just writhed and moaned as Bull fucked him with his fingers.

“Damn…I could do this all night,” he murmured, and it wasn’t even really a lie. His dick was dripping, sure—really wanted to get into that incredible ass. But Dorian was such a sight as he enjoyed himself, arching and pushing back, fingers clawing the bedspread, arms tangled in the clinging white silk…

“D-Don’t…you… _dare!_ ”

Bull grinned and snuck a third finger in. Dorian _keened._ “What’s the matter? Don’t like my fingers?”

Squirming, Dorian reached back with one arm and grabbed his wrist, fixing him with a hazy-eyed stare—and then proceeded to _pull_ , shoving Bull’s fingers in even deeper. _Shit._ His mouth watered. He hadn’t expected that.

“Your fingers are…delightful,” Dorian declared in a rough voice, yet with an aristocratic benevolence Bull had never heard from anyone on their knees like this. “However, you won’t be doing any ‘conquering’ with mere _fingers_ , no matter how brutishly large.” Dorian’s eyes dropped to stare at Bull’s cock, and the pure, unabashed _hunger_ in them made him throb with the same need.

Bull pulled his fingers out, despite the grip on his wrist. Dorian was a strong human, but there was no contest. He grabbed his dick with his oiled hand and stroked himself, and _fuck_ that felt nice, but it wasn’t enough. Then he leaned forward and purred, “This what you want?”

Dorian licked those full, tempting lips. “Yes,” he breathed—no fancy talk for once.

“Tell me.”

No hesitation—“I want your cock. Give it to me, Bull—fuck me!”

With a grin, he lined himself up, but Dorian suddenly added, “No, wait.” Bull paused, watching closely, but he didn’t detect any fear. “I want to look at you,” Dorian breathed. “I want to see.”

_Ah._ Bull grinned. “Flattering.” Then he flipped Dorian over onto his back as easily as a child’s doll. Biting his lip and groaning, Dorian looked up at him and opened his legs— _wide_. Then he reached up, and Bull compliantly lowered himself. He had one knee on the edge of the bed, and he shoved it under a toned thigh as he bent down, crowding into Dorian’s space, blanketing him with trapped heat.

As soon as he could reach, Dorian grabbed his horns—first one, then both, hands wrapping around them tight. Bull felt tremors as Dorian’s arms tensed, pulling him closer, the vibrations from his hands running along bone to that spot on the back of his skull where the sensations always resonated the strongest.

Dorian’s hips fit perfectly into his hands as he angled them, brought them up, nudged the man’s entrance with the head of his cock, and finally started to push in. Dorian’s nails dug into his horns and slipped a little, his voice cracked with pure pleasure, and Bull groaned as he slid in, tight heat enveloping his dick. He could feel the muscles squeezing and massaging him in ways that took real talent and muscle control and— _Shit!_ Bull had a feeling this wasn’t going to last as long as most of his fucks, but it felt so good he couldn’t really regret that—yet. 

Bull usually started slow, let his partners get used to him for a bit, especially in the South where most of them weren’t qunari and there were considerable size differences. Dorian, though…as soon as he began thrusting, toned, tan legs came up over his hips and clasped around his lower back and started _pulling_. Not too hard, at first—Dorian seemed okay with being given a chance to adjust, but he didn’t need long. Bull watched his face—couldn’t help it, really. Dorian looked positively swept away by bliss. Every thrust made his eyelashes flutter and soft sounds of delight fall from parted lips. Bull stared, remembering how those lips felt that night, weeks ago. Then Dorian brought him back to the moment by pulling harder with his legs and urging Bull deeper.

A few more thrusts, and Bull felt himself bottom out. Dorian shivered, panted, pulled on his horns, gasping, “Yes, there! Don’t…hold back, give me all of it!”

He had to swallow before he could trust his voice. “You got it, big guy. But let me know if you need a break…”

A frantic nod, and Bull straightened up a bit to get the best angle. Then he pulled back and slid in again—long, hard, all the way. Dorian cried out, his arms flexing, pulling his upper body off the bed. He was heavy—a tall, well-built human man—but Bull’s muscles could handle it. He started thrusting steadily, Dorian flexing his legs until he was almost riding Bull’s cock from beneath him.

It was much sooner than usual when he started thrusting faster.

Dorian struggled to speak, words broken by moans, “L-Lift…” He flexed his ass and hips in Bull’s hands. “Pick me… _ahhh!_ ”

It wasn’t easy, but Bull got his hands under Dorian’s thighs and picked him up off the bed, straightening up a bit to spare his back. His neck and shoulders were burning from Dorian’s weight, but his cock was throbbing so much Bull couldn’t care. He started pounding up into Dorian hard, chasing climax, Dorian’s voice like a filthy, beautiful song in his ears as his balls tightened…

Then suddenly, Dorian shook and arched and cried out, and Bull felt the wet splash of his release between their bodies—first time they did this, and without touching his cock. It was so hot, Bull lost it soon after. Burying himself deep inside Dorian, he groaned and began to come, heavy pulses of thick seed filling Dorian up. Dorian would probably chastise him for his manners later. The idea sounded so good, Bull felt his chest vibrate with a growl as his cock gave a few final spurts before subsiding.

Out of breath and drenched in sweat, he held it together long enough to lay Dorian back down on the bed—gently. The man’s legs fell away, limp, and his hands followed—Bull noted immediately that the palms were red and rough, abraded from gripping his horns too hard. _Potion_ , he thought. First, he arranged Dorian on the bed; then he went to get the washbasin and an elfroot potion to clean Dorian up and mend any damage.

When he turned back to the bed, Bull was not quite prepared for how gorgeous Dorian looked—completely fucked-out, skin shining with sweat, his hair a disaster and his half-smile and hazy eyes so satisfied it gave Bull a powerful rush of gratification to see. He’d done well—he’d given Dorian what he needed. That was all Bull wanted.

That, and maybe—if Dorian liked—maybe a kiss…

 

\--

 

The tingle-almost-burn of elfroot on his palms was the first thing that broke through his post-coital haze enough that Dorian bothered to respond—and even that was only a hiss of discomfort. When the burn moved down between his legs, where things until that point had been feeling pleasantly sore and loose, he actually found a few words.

“Ah! Now, now, n-none of thaaa…” He broke off with a moan, twisting feebly away. 

“Sorry, big guy. Thought you might need it.”

Aloof as ever—despite being unable to lift his head from the pillow—Dorian dismissed, “You haven’t torn me, you lummox. You’ve fucked me into a lovely stupor. Put that nasty stuff away.”

A deep chuckle— _Maker, so deep_. Dorian couldn’t get enough of the way Bull’s voice resonated through him, especially when they were pressed close together. “Alright. Let me just clean you up a bit, and…”

Dorian squinted severely at the overly attentive qunari just _kneeling_ there on the bed. Had he been able to move his arms at all, he would have sat up and dragged Bull down; unfortunately, his arms were as limp as overcooked cabbage. “Kaffas, Bull, _later_. Come _here_.”

One wide eye blinked, clearly surprised, but Bull obeyed and lay down beside him—or sort of half-reclined. Dorian supposed Bull couldn’t lay on his side with those horns. This was quite acceptable, though. His eyes travelled down Bull’s body— _Oh yes. Hm. Very acceptable._

A friendly smile. “Okay, here I am, big guy. Anything I can do for you?”

Dorian’s throat tightened nervously for a moment. He hadn’t meant to seem…well. But he _did_ rather want… “Yes.” He tossed his hair out of his eyes. _Don’t ask._ Asking made one seem needy. Ordering people about—that was clearly more Dorian’s style. “You may kiss me.”

He was quite prepared for teasing, questioning, bargaining—any number of things. He wasn’t at all prepared for the smile that spread slowly over Bull’s face…just before he leaned down, touched Dorian’s jaw, and softly kissed him. He only hoped Bull didn’t notice the slight catch in his breathing.

Bull’s massive hand slid further back, cupping Dorian’s entire head and pulling him in to deepen the kiss, and Dorian moaned—only a very little bit, so softly—into Bull’s mouth. He felt Bull smile and remembered himself, then, and calmly pulled away. Still aloof, he announced, “You may help me up, now.”

“Okay. Need anything?” Bull raised him by his shoulders, and Dorian slid quickly off the edge of the bed to avoid putting his full weight on his buttocks. His legs, fortunately, were not as spent as his arms, and he straightened with only a slight ache in them and in his back.

“I’m just going to use the…” Dorian froze, feeling…wet. He looked down and had to pull the hem of the white undershirt aside to confirm. Then he turned to stare at the Bull, who was still reclining in bed, eyes taking in the sight of Dorian in nothing but a loose shirt.

Bull’s appreciative gaze didn’t change the matter at hand, however.

“Is this some sort of trick?” Dorian kept his voice as polite as possible when there was a frankly _impossible_ amount of semen running down his thighs. “Some secret Ben-Hassrath technique no one has any respectable use for? Or are you going to tell me this is actually a normal amount of ejaculate for you?”

Bull smiled, obviously noticing the mess as it became visible where the shirt no longer covered. “Pretty typical, yeah. What’s the matter?” He blinked innocently. “You don’t like it?”

Dorian opened his mouth…and shut it again. He had meant to deny the very idea thoroughly, but upon reflection, he…wasn’t sure. It was certainly…new. And impressive. And filthy. And perhaps a bit exciting… He cleared his throat. “That is entirely beside the point. If this is normal for you, how is it that half the women in Skyhold aren’t swelling with little half-qunari babes?”

“Don’t know.” Bull sat up. “You ever seen a half-qunari, though?”

The thought was interesting—his scholarly side perked up, but Dorian covered it with a toss of his head. “I’d never met a qunari at all until you. Are there no half-breeds in Par Vollen?”

Bull shook his head. “Never seen one. And we don’t get matched up with viddathari for breeding. Don’t know if it’s because they don’t have traits that would improve the offspring or if it’s just not possible. You’d have to ask a tamassran about it. But no lady has ever brought me a big human baby with horns and told me to take responsibility, so.”

“Hm.” Dorian let his pretense at ire fade as he contemplated the implications of qunari being unable to crossbreed with humans—and as he used the chamber pot to rid himself of some of the wine he’d had. Bull handed him a large wet cloth, and Dorian cleaned some of the mess from his nethers. “I suppose I just assumed it was possible, if rare. I’ve never met a half-dwarf, but I have heard of them. And humans and elves certainly can mix. I wonder what makes qunari too different, if indeed they are.”

“It’s probably something to do with the horns,” Bull nodded sagely. Then his expression cracked into a sly grin. “They’re pretty great, right?”

Dorian fixed the gloriously naked qunari sitting on the edge of the bed with a flat stare. “Stop that this instant. Between the two of us, _I’m_ meant to be the vain one.” Then he returned to stand in front of the Bull, still mostly concealed by the shirt—even if several of the buttons hadn’t survived the destruction of the jacket and subsequent…exertions. “I will grant you, however,” he raised a hand to trail along one horn, his voice dropping to a murmur, “they do provide a useful handhold in certain…positions.”

Bull grinned, placing a hand on the small of Dorian’s back to pull him a little closer. “You should see some of the other positions they’re good for.”

Arching an eyebrow, he snorted. “Another time, perhaps. My arms have done quite enough.” Then, Dorian grinned, pushed forward, and breathed against Bull’s lips, “My legs, however, could work a little harder.” Planting one knee on the bed, he kissed Bull, pushing their bodies together insistently. He felt Bull take the hint and relax, letting Dorian push him onto his back.

A deep laugh. “You want to go for a ride, big guy?”

“Mmm.” He smiled in return.

Bull’s growl vibrated through their chests. “All right. Come here.”

Dorian leaned back and let Bull get all the way onto the bed before crawling over him to straddle his lap properly. They kissed again—deep, sultry kisses that promised heat and filth and carnal bliss…and then Bull’s giant hands ripped his shirt open—sending more buttons scattering across the floor, to Dorian’s delight—and Bull’s warm mouth began to move over his chest, licking and kissing.

The scratch of stubble made an arousing contrast to Bull’s hot, slick tongue. Dorian whimpered, his cock filling again, and he rolled his shoulders to shrug off the shirt, only to have Bull stop, catch the material, and grin at him. “Wait. Let’s use this.”

He understood what Bull meant as Dorian felt his arms pulled behind his back and wrapped in the shirt. Bull tied it all together so that Dorian’s arms were bound by ruined white satin. He released a shaky breath. “Well.” That had come out almost as evenly as he wanted it to. “I suppose I wasn’t planning to use them much for this anyway.”

“Good?” Bull asked, perfectly serious for a moment.

“Oh yes.” And this time, Dorian made no effort to hide his arousal. “No complaints.”

A laugh. “Ha! That’s a fuckin’ change of pace!”

With a chuckle of his own, Dorian shifted his hips forward, angled them down, and rubbed his swelling cock against Bull’s. It was impressive how quickly Bull regained his erection. Dorian smirked, cocking an eyebrow and glancing down at where Bull’s cock was rising against his own. “Is this a racial trait as well, or should I just take it as a compliment?”

Bull rumbled again, his hands stroking Dorian’s skin. “Let’s go with compliment, this time.”

“Excellent answer.” With that, Dorian shifted forward and rocked his ass against Bull’s shaft. “Your cooperation will be necessary for this.” All things considered, he thought the regal tone was still coming through quite well. He’d probably lose it in a minute, though…

“Aww, not going to tell me what you want me to do?”

Arching an eyebrow, Dorian flatly answered, “I didn’t wish to insult your intelligence.”

The plaintive expression Bull gave him was… _cute_. Dorian was somewhat disgusted with himself for thinking it, and somewhat shocked that the Bull could _do_ “cute” at all. “I won’t be insulted. I like hearing you talk dirty.” He grinned. “Especially when you act all stuck-up while you do it.”

With a sigh—one Bull seemed to take gleeful delight in, judging by the spark of happiness in his eye—Dorian relented. With a regal head-toss and his most superior air, he commanded, “Iron Bull, I want you to take yourself in hand and hold it still for me so that I may sit. On. Your. Dick. And fuck myself senseless with your oversized qunari cock.” He felt the slightest smile tugging the edges of his mouth, but kept his poise. “ _Please_.”

“Shit yeah,” Bull breathed, and Dorian felt his chest tighten and his smile become harder to suppress, because the look in Bull’s eye was nothing short of blatant, awestruck arousal. And Dorian did _so_ like to be properly appreciated.

Shifting to make sure he had the proper balance and leverage, Dorian waited until Bull had his cockhead positioned perfectly. Then, holding that reverent gaze, he slid down, feeling the head breach his opening, and then more. Smoothly, confidently, he took Bull’s cock until he was stuffed with it. _So big…_ He gasped when it was all inside, his seductive expression slipping. It was just… _so much_. Not even half an hour had passed since Bull had been inside him, but Dorian felt surprised all over again. It was like he couldn’t retain the memory of such an overwhelming experience—he could only let it overwhelm him all over again.

“Yeah…look at you. You like that, Dorian?” Bull’s hands framed his hips, his eye bright with desire, and Dorian knew he was probably reading him like an open book, but he still had _some_ pride, after all.

Rolling his hips, Dorian moaned, “I’ve no intention of flattering you. I think you are well aware of the… _ohhhhh_ …th-the effect of your— _mmh, fuck!_ ” He lifted himself and sank down, and the pleasure of taking Bull again made him forget what he’d been saying. “Ugh, shut up, you brute,” Dorian groused, squeezing around Bull’s cock just to watch him shudder. “I’m going to ride you now; I don’t need to be distracted with questions.”

“Sounds good, big… _ungh!_ Fuck…”

It took him some time to adjust—Bull was much wider than most men, and Dorian had to adapt to having his legs spread so much more than usual for this. He also had to balance without his arms, which would have been quite difficult if he weren’t in such good shape. As it was, he needed as much core strength as leg power—luckily, he had both. And slowly, rhythmically riding Bull’s cock with his stomach tight for balance made a beautiful picture, he knew—toned muscles flexing under smooth, tanned skin. Bull’s eye roamed all over him, and Dorian felt the gaze like a caress. 

Then, there were the actual caresses of huge, callused hands—something Dorian should try to remember to complain about, later, but at the moment the rough scratch of them made his skin light up with sensation. Bull seemed to be enjoying the chance to touch him freely, and Dorian couldn’t help but shiver every time he tested the bindings around his arms and felt their restraint, reminding him that he couldn’t touch himself—only Bull could. Dorian wasn’t likely to reach completion untouched this time, so either Bull would do it for him, when he chose, or he’d make Dorian wait, and ask, and probably beg. Not knowing yet was…exhilarating.

“Mmmm, yeah, Dorian. Fuck, you know how to take what you want. Could watch you do this all night.”

Dorian laughed a little, breathless. “You mean, I could _make you_ watch me do this all night.” _Ha. As if either of us would last._ Still.

“Ohh, that’s just mean,” Bull purred, his hand slipping dangerously low on Dorian’s abdomen. “I like it.”

Squeezing tight, Dorian picked up the pace—just a little. He’d done this often enough where he rode hard and fast, but tonight seemed to beg for slow and sensual. Maybe it was just easier, bound as he was, to keep his balance, but part of Dorian was also loving the chance to put on a show. Rolling his hips in a sinuous rhythm, letting the pleasure build slowly, the burn and need rising, building. He was going to lose his mind, doing it like this, but he couldn’t help it. The Bull was so thick and hot inside him; Dorian wanted to savor every inch.

“Oh,” he gasped, feeling the edge of desperation climbing his spine with a tingling tension, “I…I think it would be most…polite of you, if you, if you would touch me…soon.”

Bull’s voice, again, was wonderfully, stunningly deep. “I am.” His hands tightened on Dorian’s hips, sliding back to squeeze and rub his ass. “Not what you wanted?”

He was teasing, and Dorian tried to glare at him for it, but he couldn’t stop anymore, or pretend he wanted anything other than to fuck and come. “You expect me to beg?” he panted.

“Nah,” Bull purred. “But if you wanted to…just saying. Bet you’d beg prettier than anyone.”

“I do _everything_ prettier than anyone,” Dorian rasped, then swallowed to get most of his voice back. He contemplated, for one moment, trying to hold out a little longer…and then threw that idea out. _Bad Choices—embrace them!_ So Dorian rode Bull, and licked his lips, and let his need show without any attempt at concealment. “Bull.” He gasped. “Iron Bull, please…please put your hand on my cock, I need to come! Oh Maker, I need to… _kaffas!_ Please touch me, Bull!”

For answer, he got a deep growl, and a large fist loosely wrapping around his cock. Dorian began to eagerly thrust up into Bull’s grip, then down again onto his cock, chasing pleasure in both directions.

He felt it building, hot and overpowering, and he let go. Stomach fluttering, Dorian cried out and came into Bull’s hand, and the answering moan resonated through his lower body. 

Then Bull released him, wiped his hand off quickly, and lifted Dorian by the hips, sliding him off Bull’s cock. He almost protested, but then Bull rested him on his thighs and took hold of himself, and Dorian forgot everything as he watched Bull jerk himself off with remnants of Dorian’s semen spreading over his shaft.

“Bull.” Dorian leaned back a little, inviting, displaying his nude body. “On me.”

No retort—just a deep moan, and in a few more seconds Bull grunted and began to come. He pointed his cock toward Dorian, and the copious spurts landed across his chest and stomach and groin. Dorian made an inarticulate sound of pleasure—there was still _so much_. He hadn’t been covered so since his days of revelry, when he’d had more than one partner for acts like this.

He could barely hold himself up anymore by the time Bull was finished. Fortunately, Bull pulled himself together quickly, and he sat up and pulled Dorian close. Dorian let himself fall against a wall of sweaty skin, and he shuddered when Bull’s hands on his arms took hold of the restraining shirt and just shredded it, freeing him in a moment. Then Bull was holding him, lowering him to the bed, and Dorian’s arms were numb and his legs felt like water, so he went without a fuss—a very sated, very limp rag doll.

Dorian would have been perfectly happy to pass out right there, but…well, Bull’s mouth was on him. _Licking_. And Dorian realized, distantly, that it was probably an odd thing to admit, after all his sexual experience, but he couldn’t remember a time when a man had licked his own spend off Dorian. Some had been amenable to Dorian’s seed in their mouths, and _many_ had wanted theirs in Dorian’s—and for Dorian to taste his own essence, naturally—but this? If it had happened, he couldn’t remember. And Bull’s tongue grazed over his nipples, his chest, all down his stomach and even his spent cock, and Dorian told himself _savages_ and _it isn’t important,_ but then his traitorous dick stirred anyway, and he knew Bull noticed because he stopped and moved up, like he was searching Dorian’s face.

Eyes stubbornly shut, Dorian tried pretending he was asleep. He tried relaxing and thinking of mundane things. He tried framing explanations and reasons in his mind…and then he gave up with a sigh and opened his eyes to see Bull watching him.

“Oh, _kaffas_ , just…get back inside me.” Dorian flicked his hand about in a vague gesture.

Bull seemed to be stifling a grin. “Uh, I’d be happy to, but I’m going to need a few minutes.”

“Hmm.” Through half-open eyes, Dorian studied the massive qunari he’d taken it upon himself to fuck. “How comfortable are you with magic in close quarters?”

Bull’s eyebrow climbed his forehead. “I’m guessing you don’t mean combat magic.” He answered with a flat stare. Bull shrugged one huge shoulder. “As long as there are no demons, I’m good. Why? Got some kind of hot sex magic?”

Dorian smirked. “I have many kinds of ‘hot sex magic,’ actually. At the moment, I was considering a very gentle, targeted rejuvenation spell.”

“Does it hurt?”

With a patient expression, Dorian reached down and cupped Bull’s soft cock. “ _Quite_ the opposite.” Then he paused, met Bull’s gaze. “May I?”

A slow grin. “Yeah.” Then Bull’s eyelid fluttered. “ _Oh._ Shit…”

Having used this spell on himself, Dorian was familiar with the warm, gentle tingle that built a throbbing energy until it faded, leaving a man’s member very much engorged. As he drew his fingers away, that was precisely Bull’s condition. “Now,” he hummed, struggling to roll over with limbs that really didn’t want to cooperate, “oil yourself and fuck me again.”

He could hear Bull obeying, and then there was that hot, thick shaft in the cleft of his buttocks again, rubbing oil around. “You going to do yourself, too?”

“Mmh,” Dorian grunted into the pillow—a shorter way of saying “I haven’t decided yet”—before he felt the broad head of Bull’s cock open him up again. “ _Ohhhh…_ ”

It slid in so easily, Dorian almost couldn’t believe it. Just one long push, and he was full again, speared on Bull’s ludicrous cock. “Oh, you beast, you _beast_ , I think you’ve wrecked me…”

“Doing okay?” There was a note of genuine concern in Bull’s voice, and a big hand on Dorian’s back, soothing.

“Oh, wonderful. Don’t…misunderstand. I merely lament the possibility that my poor arse will never be able to feel a normal-sized cock after this. I’ll be…ah…no one else will do… _oh._ ”

“Mmm.” The heat of Bull’s body pressed down, the most massive, muscular arms he’d ever felt wrapping around Dorian’s chest and stomach and holding him close as Bull began to rock into him. “You’re sweet.”

Dorian shivered, feeling a kiss brush the hair behind his ear. “Oh, your cock inside me is sweeter,” he murmured, not thinking at all about what he said. Thoughts were for tomorrow. Dorian had no more thoughts to offer until then. “You feel so good, Bull, I can’t even find the words to… _ahhh_. Oh, I wish…always…just keep you like this, never let you take it out… _mmh_ , never be without your glorious cock in me.” Kisses on the back of his neck, open-mouthed and sucking, and the soft rumble of laughter. “Ngh, stop taking your time…hurry. Hurry up and fuck me, Bull…just do it. Take it. You can have it all, anything you want…”

He was mumbling, half-incoherent, but it didn’t matter because Bull gave him everything he asked for and fucked him—solid, thrumming, _good_. Dorian had no sense of the end approaching when pleasure suddenly washed through him again, and his cock gave a weak dribble that was all he had left.

“Always…just for you…” Dorian whispered. Bull was groaning, thrusting harder. “Oh, give it to me, Bull, give it to me again. I can’t get enough, I can’t… _ohhhh…_ ”

His sigh was drowned out by Bull’s groan as he shook with climax, his cock throbbing, Dorian’s abused rim feeling every shiver and pulse so clearly.

He felt teeth on his shoulder—not brutal. Gentle but firm, insistent. He shivered, and he was _so happy_ when Bull lay down with him and didn’t pull out right away. Dorian drifted in the aftermath and didn’t inspect those feelings. Being slightly drunk had its advantages.

 

\--

 

There were no protests this time, as Bull cleaned Dorian up. No sniping and sass and insisting on doing things himself. The mage in his bed seemed beyond even words, and Bull let the silence wrap them up in it. There was no need to speak; as long as he could touch Dorian gently and take care of him and see that look of dazed bliss on his face, Bull was…happy.

Just _happy…_ but so very, very happy.

Dorian didn’t say much, but somehow Bull didn’t mind. Normally he liked the mage’s lively talk—even if it was mostly bitching—but in this warm, tired silence, it didn’t bother him if Dorian didn’t want to talk. There was no awkwardness, tension, or even a shadow of regret. So Bull just took care of everything, and wrapped a clean, spent mage in dry blankets and lay down beside him, holding him against his chest.

“Well,” Dorian sighed, finally, and from the sound of it, he was already half asleep. “That was…quite good.”

Bull had to laugh at that, softly. Dorian was usually one to exaggerate, but tonight he was the master of the understatement. “Yeah. Yeah it was, big guy.”

They fell asleep like that.

Bull woke some time later. By the sound and scent and feel of things, it was nearly dawn. His legs and back were a little sore, and he needed to piss. He also had a rather beautiful naked man wrapped around him.

Dorian was a complete mess, and Bull thought he’d never looked better. His hair was all over the place, tumbling into his face, and it looked like the tip of one stray lock was tickling Dorian’s nose, because he kept twitching it in his sleep. Bull smiled and lifted the hair away with the edge of a claw. Dorian’s face relaxed.

“Glad I could give you what you needed, Dorian,” he whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

“Where’s the altus this morning, Chief?”

“Still recovering, most like.” Stitches. “I can take him a poultice if you like, Ser.”

“He’s fine,” Bull waved them off, not wanting anyone to disturb Dorian. “He’s still getting dressed, he’ll be down in a few minutes.” As the rest of the Chargers hadn’t gathered yet, no one should have any smart remarks about Dorian sleeping in.

“Heard you leave before dawn,” Krem observed, glancing at him sidelong.

“Yeah…uh, Dorian needed some things he’d left at the palace. I went to get his trunk for him.” He didn’t mention that “some things” really meant “anything to wear at all,” because not one scrap of clothing Dorian had worn into his room had survived the night. He also left out the part where Dorian had looked like he could use a minute to collect himself without Bull in the room, so he hadn’t minded the errand.

“One night and he’s ordering you about like his manservant,” Krem grumbled.

“It’s probably not that,” Stitches interjected before Bull could correct him. “Chief likes taking care of all his tumbles. We’ve seen it often enough.”

Krem didn’t look particularly mollified. “Come on, Krem, you know you’re still my favorite ‘Vint!” Krem huffed.

When Dorian appeared, he looked… _hm._ Bull thought “dazzling” was probably the best Common word for it, but it lacked the nuances of Qunlat. In Qunlat, the word was related to _ataashi_ , but it _wasn’t_ , and that was where the meaning came in. It was the appearance of gloriousness without the heart-stopping truth of it. It was putting on a big, sparkly show. For Dorian, it was wearing beauty like armor, which he always did anyway, but he had…a little extra “armor” on today.

Bull thought about how good he looked with his hair tousled and no makeup and stubble on his cheeks and bruises on his skin and thought, _that’s a shame._ Nothing he could do about it, but it would have been nice if Dorian had been able to take what he needed and not deny it afterward.

Krem took one look at Dorian, rolled his eyes, and turned away. Not surprising—in the world of commoners, people who showed off thought they were better, wanted you to know you were less. Bull wondered if he should talk to Krem later, explain that wasn’t it with Dorian. 

“Sleep well, altus?”

“Sleep at all, Ser?”

Dorian’s smile was smooth and calm. “Oh yes, thank you.” He poured himself water from the pitcher on the table, but did not sit. Before another word could be spoken, Dalish appeared.

“Oh, the magister can still walk! Had a poultice, or is Chief getting old at long last?”

“Hey!”

Stitches smirked. “None of my poultices, if he did.”

Dorian smiled gamely. “Now now, you captain deserves none of this disparagement.”

“I’ll say,” Bull huffed. “Not after _three times._ ”

There was hooting at laughter at that, during which Rocky appeared at the top of the stairs. He was quickly informed and joined the noise.

With voice slightly raised over the group, Dorian shot back, “I don’t know why you’re bragging when you needed _help_ for the last one…”

Renewed hooting, but Bull’s voice carried easily. “Only because _somebody_ couldn’t wait _five minutes._ ”

Dorian’s ears went a little red that time, and Bull checked any further comments. The mage was still smiling, but that didn’t mean much. When the Chargers’ noise died down, all of them waiting for the response, Dorian was his usual aloof self. “Yes, well. We’ve all been drunk before.”

That got a laugh from everyone but Krem. The rest of the Chargers were beginning to appear at that point, and Dorian bowed slightly and took his leave.

Bull sort of regretted not kissing him good morning when he woke up.

 

\--

 

The trip back to Skyhold was blessedly calm. The Chargers—and their captain—remained in Orlais for a bit of work. Trevelyan had talked with Bull, Dorian knew, to explain the mission, but apparently Bull had kept his mouth shut for once, and no one had noticed that the servants bringing Dorian’s trunk had not come from the palace. 

_Thank the Maker._

Instead of talk about his dalliances, Dorian got to listen to the Inquisitor ramble starry-eyed about Lady Montilyet, as though nothing else of import had happened at the ball apart from dancing with her.

Then, he was back in his library, free to enjoy a few blessedly quiet days of no one knowing what had happened before Bull came back and told the whole castle.

Well—almost no one.

“He would have said yes.”

Dorian barely paused in his note-taking. “You already told me that, Cole. And it hardly matters when I haven’t seen Rilienus in years.”

Silence. Then, “Not Rilienus.”

_Oh._

 

\--

 

Traveling with the Bull was _fine._ Nothing had changed, and nothing _would_. They fought together, camped with their other companions, and washed off each day’s battles in the same streams—that were always colder than they looked, _Bloody South._

Dorian hadn’t made any special effort to avert his eyes before he’d slept with Bull, so he saw no reason to start now. If Bull chose to tease and proposition him, that was nothing new either. Camping was not a fitting environment for intimate encounters—end of story.

And really, they were done, so it was all doubly moot.

“You can share a tent with Bull if you like, Dorian. I really don’t mind sharing with Blackwall.”

Sadly, Maxwell Trevelyan was blind to most of those details. He’d gotten as far as “Dorian and Bull” and stopped listening. And, being the supportive friend he was, he kept trying to play matchmaker for them.

“Inquisitor, please believe me when I say that I have no secret wish to change our current sleeping arrangements. You are by far the least odiferous of our current company—that alone is a high recommendation in a tent-mate. Furthermore, as I’ve told you numerous times, my affair with the Bull was never meant to last beyond one night, and now it is quite over.”

Trevelyan had that “worried puppy” look, like someone was taking away his favorite toy. “Are you sure? He seems really interested in you, Dorian. Was he not good to you? Were you unhappy with him?”

The Iron Bull hit on anyone with two legs—and he’d probably hit on anyone with one leg or none, just the same. But Dorian let that part pass. “He was perfectly good, Inquisitor, you needn’t fear any mistreatment. I simply…got everything I wanted from him, and that’s all.”

_If only that were all._

“All right…” _Maker, defend this man from ever having to deal with the Magisterium._ Trevelyan couldn’t hide his emotions to save his life—he was a walking puddle of dejection. It was…sweet, how much he cared. Even if Dorian didn’t know what to do with it.

 

\--

 

The boss was nagging hard—not that Bull couldn’t understand why. He’d jilted Dorian, he felt bad about it—it would soothe his guilt if Dorian was hanging blissfully on the arm of someone else. So he was trying to make that happen—in his own misguided way.

There was that time he’d overheard the boss playing chess with Cullen: “You know, you really should relax more. Maybe find someone special. Love is what gets us through these dark times, Commander.”

“Um…as you say, Inquisitor, but I think I’ll be fine. I have much work, but I haven’t killed myself yet.” From the sound of his voice, Bull guessed Cullen was confused and trying to brush the topic off in a kind way.

“You often play chess with Dorian, don’t you?”

“Ah, yes. Well, not _often_ , but…”

“Isn’t he a remarkable man? The handsomest man in Skyhold, I think. Nothing against yourself, of course—you’re terribly attractive too. The two of you are like…the best of two different worlds. You, the strong, rugged, reliable soldier of the South, and Dorian, the stunning, exotic beauty of the North. What a pair!”

“That’s…thank you, I suppose?”

“And it doesn’t bother you that he’s a mage, does it? Even though you used to be a Templar?”

“I…no. The mages you travel with are very capable. I have little fear of them losing themselves.”

“You know, I think Dorian finds you attractive. Isn’t that flattering? Maybe you should explore that a little, see if there could be anything there…”

Evidently, Cullen hadn’t made himself clear enough when he turned Trevelyan down. The pained voice that answered seemed to confirm the idea.

“Inquisitor, I think not. Perhaps you haven’t understood me clearly in the past, but…as much as I might admire Lord Pavus, yourself, or any man of my acquaintance, I will never seek any intimate connection. My preferences lie firmly with the fairer sex; it has been so all my life. I beg you not to say anything to Lord Pavus that would indicate otherwise.”

Bull had been debating bringing up his night with Dorian in front of the Inquisitor, after Halamshiral. The Chargers would spread the word, but rumors would not reach the boss any time soon unless Bull helped the news spread. He’d been half inclined to let it go, but after that he’d changed his mind.

The boss had looked uncommonly shocked when Bull had blatantly invited Dorian for “another round” in his tent on their first trip out together. It was like he couldn’t process the idea of Dorian with Bull—a race thing, a class thing, or his old blindness caused by beauty? Whatever it was, boss rapidly dealt with his shock and started trying to “be happy for them,” much to Dorian’s annoyance. _Oh well._ At least Dorian was safe from boss trying to match him up with half of Skyhold.

“You really bedded that Tevinter brat?” Blackwall—polishing his armor and getting ready to bed down in their tent.

“Sure. Something wrong with that?”

“I don’t mean to pry.” The burly warrior shrugged. “I just don’t see the appeal.”

“Well, Dorian doesn’t have tits, so I don’t expect you to.”

A raspy laugh. “True enough, but not really what I meant.”

“All right, big guy, let me have it.”

Blackwall shook his head. “He’s a pampered, spoiled prince. Even setting aside he’s a mage, and all that mages get up to where he’s from—that arrogance, that superior attitude. I don’t know how you get it up with someone who can’t stop looking down their nose at you.”

 _Ah._ Everyone had their blinders; everyone saw differently. Sera saw in black and white, to keep her world clear and safe. She also saw wealth and finery and hated it, but she had an uncanny sense of the true intent of a person’s heart—so she liked Dorian and hated Viv, when to all appearances they were two peas in a pod, just from different countries. 

Blackwall was used to judging his world by what he could see, as well, but he didn’t have the instinct to look past the surface. Still, he wasn’t unteachable—maybe with a little help.

“You know, that ‘spoiled prince’ is sleeping in a tent tonight, just like we are.” Bull set his harness aside and continued mildly, “They don’t have satin sheets and rose petals over there—just bedrolls, same as these. He didn’t have to join this fight, and he could have left when he saw what it would really be like. And as far as what the other ‘Vints do with their magic—he’s here, helping us kill people he used to know.”

“Hmm.” Blackwall frowned, thinking about this. “He complains enough about it. Nothing’s ever as good as Tevinter for that one.”

“And you bring up the Wardens pretty often,” Bull observed, his voice neutral. “And Solas talks about the Fade, and I probably mention the Qun from time to time. We all talk about what we know and compare everything else to that.”

The Warden was actually stroking his beard, now. “Well, maybe. But he doesn’t have to be so rude about it.”

Bull chuckled. “You’ve made your opinion of him pretty clear. How do most people respond when they know they aren’t wanted?” Bull smiled and lay down. “Try being nice to him. Just to see what happens.”

A few days later, when Blackwall offered a “truce,” Dorian most graciously accepted. Blackwall seemed taken aback that that was it, and Dorian concealed his surprise at the civility pretty well, but Bull saw through it. The rest of the day, Dorian’s pace was quicker, his step lighter, his posture a little more relaxed. _“Rejection doesn’t bother him,” ha._ People who weren’t hurt by rejection didn’t care about acceptance either; that was Viv. Dorian was softer underneath, even if most people missed it with him sparkling in their eyes so much. 

Sera had damn good instincts.

 

\--

 

It was, thank the Maker, their last day of wandering the countryside before returning to Skyhold, and Dorian was looking forward to getting his boots mended. Scrambling over all these rocks was beginning to wear on them.

The topic of conversation today was “What We’re All Going To Do After We Defeat Corypheus.” Dorian was going to return to Tevinter, though he had no clear plans what he’d be able to do there, as of yet, so of course he claimed that he would be Archon within a year. Blackwall was boring—back to what he’d been doing, never stop fighting darkspawn. Trevelyan was sighing over the hope of a future with Josephine, little dark-skinned toddlers running about. Dorian fully expected Bull to laugh and declare he’d be leading the Chargers for life.

“Hmmm…I guess I can see that. Marriage sounds good.”

His worn boot slipped on a rock, and Dorian fell right onto his ass—easily the least graceful thing he’d done since he was seven. Blackwall burst into laughter, and Trevelyan hurried to help him back up.

“Good one—knocked the lord right on his arse,” Blackwall chuckled. 

“I wasn’t joking.”

All three of them stared in surprise, but Dorian was far beyond that emotion; he was closer to shocked. “But…but…qunari don’t marry!” _Oh, clever. State the obvious for us all._

“I’m not Qunari anymore,” Bull answered simply shrugging. “The Tal-Vashoth in the South marry and have families. Actually, everyone does. Seems like a nice idea.”

“Really?” Trevelyan looked a little too excited. “Marriage? What about the Chargers? What about children, do you want children?”

Bull smiled patiently. “I can’t lead the Chargers forever. Old injuries will make me useless in a fight sooner or later, and Krem will make a good captain someday. Kids…I don’t know.” He grinned at Dorian and winked. _Maker._ “Seems like qunari can’t have kids with other races…but maybe no one’s ever tried hard enough yet. Or maybe I’ll meet a nice Vashoth lady and we’ll have little Bulls running all over the place.”

The image nearly broke Dorian’s mind. Weakly, he tried, “You certainly never seemed to be looking for a committed relationship…”

“It’s a new idea.” Bull smiled. “Thought I might try living the life a bit.” 

Dorian tried very hard to put the conversation out of his mind, but of course that wasn’t going to be possible with Matchmaker Trevelyan around.

“He was talking about you, Dorian! ‘A new idea,’ he said! I’m sure he started thinking about it after you two…you know!”

They were in camp, and Dorian was trying to eat trail stew—a challenge at the best of times, and not something he wanted to attempt with his stomach in knots. “Honestly, Inquisitor, did you entirely miss the part about the Vashoth woman and the children? Do I look like a horned giant with breasts?”

“Oh, come on, Dorian, he said he didn’t know about that. He was _telling_ you he’d be interested in a relationship! Don’t you want that?”

“As I’ve told you repeatedly, Inquisitor, I already got all I wanted from the Bull.”

Maxwell Trevelyan could be both very dense and, occasionally, very perceptive. It was just Dorian’s luck that he chose to be the latter for once.

“You _have_ said that…and I think it’s not quite true.” He patted Dorian’s shoulder. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Can’t you tell me the truth?”

 _Festis bei umo—_ “All right. As you wish.” Dorian set his stew down. “I want to suck his cock.”

Blinking. “I beg your pardon?”

All grace and calm, Dorian explained, “When we slept together, we never…did that. We were very busy with other things, so it’s not terribly strange, but it remains one of my favorite activities, and the Bull certainly presents a challenge to my impressive skills, and every time I see him nude,” _Or clothed, or in full armor…_ “I’m reminded how much I would have liked to do that. So. There you have it—my little secret. I pine for a taste of Bull’s cock, but to initiate a second encounter would really be out of the question.”

“Why?”

Dorian sighed. “It just…breaks the one-night rule! The whole idea of _one night_ is that you want something simple and you get it—curiosity satisfied, whatever it may be. The moment you do it again, you’ve changed the rules. You’ve admitted you want more, and who knows where it ends after that?”

“…Maybe in marriage,” Trevelyan suggested. “Apparently Bull would be all right with that.”

Dorian was at a loss. “I…don’t want to marry Iron Bull.”

“Mm, right. You want to suck his cock.”

“Yes.”

“I’m confused.” The Inquisitor’s face scrunched. “Maybe this is a Tevinter thing? I don’t think we have these rules here.” Then, he shrugged and stood. “Dorian?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sharing with Blackwall tonight. Suck Bull’s cock.”


	5. Chapter 5

Boss announced the change in sleeping arrangements without giving any reasons, but Bull could spot a setup a mile away. He was certain Dorian hadn’t requested the change, and he expected some griping about it. 

He didn’t expect Dorian sitting in his tent, half-undressed and calmly writing notes in a small pocket journal.

Dorian didn’t acknowledge him right away, so Bull just started putting his gear away and laying out his bedroll. When Dorian spoke, it was casually, without raising his head or ceasing his writing.

“Has the Inquisitor told you the reason for the change in our sleeping arrangements?”

Boss didn’t _need_ to, but Bull left that out for now and simply answered, “No. You?”

Dorian’s pen scratched. “He appears to be on a sort of personal quest to see you and I resume our sexual relationship.”

“Ah.” When nothing further followed, Bull ventured, “Do you want to?”

Finally, Dorian set his pen down and looked up. He seemed to consider a moment, then plainly answered, “I have a stubborn impulse to refuse to do anything I’m commanded to do, even if it matches my own desire. I probably have my father to thank for that. Nevertheless, it is certainly a childish reaction, and as an adult I should recognize it as such.”

 _Fair enough_. “So…you _do_ want to.”

With a _tsk_ , Dorian began to put his writing away with quick, snapping movements. “Well, not in a _tent_ , certainly. Barely more than a blanket between my arse and the rocky ground, and smelling like sweat and armor.”

“Hey, I bathed!” It was true; he’d washed off quite thoroughly in the nearby stream once he’d heard Dorian would be sharing with him tonight. If nothing else, it would hopefully cut down on the complaints.

Eyes narrowing slightly, Dorian studied him, then looked away. “A remarkable achievement, I’m sure. How shall I ever resist you now?”

Bull chuckled, then moved to settle himself on his own bedroll and stretch out his leg. “Look, Dorian, if you want sex, I’m up for it. Here or back in Skyhold doesn’t matter to me. And I don’t care what the boss thinks we should be doing. If you want to do something, we do it. That’s it. When you’re done, we’re done.”

Dorian’s eyes cut down, rather obviously, to below Bull’s belt. “Well.” He bit that plump, tempting lower lip, just for a moment. “I find it rather difficult to want _anything_ when faced with those pants.”

Bull thought that was oddly adorable, even though he still wished Dorian could just say what he wanted. _Well, give him time._ So, Bull just smiled and unbuckled his belt, set it aside, then shifted up onto his good leg to drop his pants. Then he sat again, leaning comfortably back against his pack, and gave Dorian a friendly wink. “Better?”

“If you’d permit me to set the pants on fire now, it would be.” Dorian’s wit was still sharp, but his eyes were riveted to Bull’s cock.

“Mmm.” Bull stretched, lacing his hands behind his head, which always showed off the musculature nicely. “So…think of anything you want?” When Dorian hesitated, he gently teased, “Come on, Dorian. Don’t let those stubborn impulses control you. Daddy isn’t here giving orders. It’s just you, me…and whatever you’d like.”

Licking lips, and a quirk of a smile as Dorian finally rolled forward onto his knees and shifted closer. “If my father knew anything about this…imagine.” He smiled more fully, the idea seeming to finally give him the bravery to speak. “I have many marvelous skills, of course…” Gray eyes glanced up at him for a moment. “But my mouth has long been one of my most praised talents. And I’ve been…wondering, lately, how much a qunari might challenge those skills.”

He crawled a little closer to Bull’s lap, lamplight shining on bronze skin. Dorian in just trousers was a sight, and those full lips and the offer… _damn_. Bull was already getting turned on. “Oh you’ve been wondering?”

A slow grin. “All right, I admit it. I’ve been thinking about sucking you off ever since we skipped that part in Halamshiral. May I?”

“Shit yeah!” Bull eagerly made room between his legs for Dorian.

A smirk. “Quite generous of you, I’m sure.” Then his hand was on Bull’s dick, lifting it and stroking gently as Dorian lay down on his side and began to lick.

It felt amazing, but that was no surprise. Dorian perfected everything he did. What Bull hadn’t expected was just how _eager_ Dorian was. “Eager” wasn’t even a sufficient word; Dorian _reveled_ in sucking Bull’s cock. He licked, sucked, kissed, and kept both hands busy stroking and fondling until Bull started doing deep, slow, meditative breathing to keep his head.

When Dorian started taking him into his mouth fully, Bull thought he’d have to warn the guy to slow down and take it easy, but it seemed for all his desire, Dorian knew how to be careful with his own throat. He never gagged, he just worked Bull deeper a little at a time, carefully, while keeping his tongue and hands moving in ways that gave Bull no time to recover. The mage wasn’t even doing any magic, as far as Bull could tell, and he was going to make Bull come… _soon_.

He could see how hard Dorian was in his trousers, his hips beginning to hitch forward in fitful little thrusts, his ass clenching. Bull knew he’d bitch like crazy about it after, especially on the road, with limited clothing available, but imagining Dorian spilling in his trousers just from sucking him off was really damn hot.

And Dorian was opening his throat, and Bull could feel himself slide into the tight grasp of it…and out again. Dorian pulled off, gasping, and lipped hungrily around his crown. Then he did it again, moaning as Bull’s shaft slid into his throat. Then again, moaning harder, swallowing, his hands rubbing Bull’s balls…

“Fuck, Dorian! I’m…I’m coming…!”

Dorian quickly pulled back—but not off. He sealed his lips around Bull’s cockhead and stroked vigorously as Bull’s claws put holes in his bedroll and he groaned loud and came, his seed shooting hard into Dorian’s mouth. Dorian drank it—all of it. He moaned and squeezed and milked him for every drop, his eyes barely open, his face a mask of bliss. Bull could barely breathe just looking at him.

Then Dorian let him go, frantic hands pulling at the laces to his trousers. Still a little dizzy, Bull managed to intercept him with a grin, and he felt Dorian’s hard prick against his palm and grinned at the whimper that fell from those red, wet lips.

“Going to let me return the favor?”

“ _Kaffas,_ I… _yes!_ ”

Bull pushed the willing man onto his back and freed him from his clothing. Dorian’s prick was leaking plentifully—this wouldn’t last long. Bull grabbed his hands and put them on his horns. “You can steer,” he purred. “Take everything you want. Fuck my mouth, Dorian. Don’t be gentle.”

A helpless cry of bliss was his answer as Dorian pulled him onto his cock, and Bull let the man fill his mouth as he rubbed the underside of his dick with his tongue.

Dorian didn’t need to be told twice that he was in charge—he griped Bull’s horns and maneuvered him forcefully, his hips thrusting up off the bedroll into Bull’s mouth. He didn’t go all the way at first, though—too polite for that. Still, when he pushed deeper and felt Bull open up around him easily, Dorian got rough. Demanding. _Hot as fuck_.

It lasted longer than Bull had expected. Dorian had stunning self-control, and he alternated between rough thrusting and then slowly, languorously pulling Bull up and down, his prick gliding between Bull’s lips, drawing out the pleasure. Bull let his hands roam Dorian’s body, stroking his skin, playing with his dusky nipples until Dorian was gasping, writhing, fucking Bull’s mouth harder than ever and not slowing down, not stopping…

Dorian’s cry as he came in Bull’s mouth was the prettiest sound in the world.

Dazed and panting, Dorian lay there, limp, as Bull crawled up and kissed his shoulder, his neck. A groping hand found his face, and Bull blinked as Dorian pulled him into a full kiss—a _deep_ one. Dorian’s tongue explored his mouth without hesitation, as though savoring the taste of his own seed, or sharing Bull’s, or perhaps just letting them mingle as they kissed.

It was fucking hot, and the longer Dorian kissed him, the more Bull felt his cock starting to fill again. He kept his hips from bumping Dorian, though—he didn’t want to push for more.

It was Dorian who found out on his own, when he quite deliberately stroked a hand down Bull’s stomach and cupped his dick again. He froze a moment, then laughed into the kiss. “I don’t know what else I was expecting. You’re unbelievable.” But his hand remained, rubbing and fondling, and Bull was starting to really get hard again.

“That’s your fault, big guy,” he murmured. “Believe it or not, I’m usually good with one.”

Dorian smiled. “The things you say.” Then he pushed, weakly, at Bull’s chest. “Lie down.”

Obediently, Bull did, only to have Dorian drape himself half-over him and take Bull in hand again, fingers kneading around the crown as he encouraged him back to full erection. When Bull was there, Dorian gave him a few experimental strokes, but it was getting dry. He took his hand away and craned his head back to look at Bull. His face was so open and sweet. “Magic?”

Bull felt a prickle of excitement head straight for his balls. “Something new this time? Shit, yeah.”

Dorian grinned, then looked down. Bull followed his gaze and saw him holding his hand out, palm up. With a little sparkle, a puddle of something viscous formed in his hand. Then Dorian took hold of him again, and _fuck_ , it felt nice.

“That’s not…demon slick or anything…right?” he panted.

Dorian chuckled. “That’s _my_ slick. All…over…your…cock.”

Bull groaned.

It lasted so much longer the second time. Dorian made hand jobs a revelation. He stroked with such perfect pressure, sometimes fast and wild, sometimes slow and maddening. He tugged and rubbed Bull’s balls; he played with the tip, delicate fingers sliding under his foreskin and stroking around the head, occasionally brushing the slit. He leaned on Bull’s chest and kissed his skin, found a nipple with his mouth and sucked. He made Bull forget there was anything in the world other than this glorious mage and the pleasure of his touch. And when Bull felt himself getting close, Dorian murmured, “I hope you still have a lot, because I’m going to drink it again.”

Cursing, gasping—and yes, Bull _did_. Dorian sat up and bent over him and sucked his spend from his cock, his tongue gathering every thick, heavy spurt.

They lay together for a while; then Dorian got up to clean himself off. Bull missed the weight of his head on his chest, but he followed suit and put his pants back on. Dorian went for a heavy shirt, and then pulled out his extra blanket, and Bull remembered the feeling of regret last time that he hadn’t kissed Dorian good morning…and he spoke up.

“Hey.” Dorian glanced at him, and Bull made space on the bedroll and lifted the blanket. “Pretty warm in here.”

A tiny frown. “That’s hardly surprising.” Dorian hesitated, playing with the edge of his blanket.

“Stitches says qunari have a higher body temperature. What would be a fever for a human is normal for me.” He shrugged, an easy smile in place. “I’ve been told I would fetch a high price as a bed warmer.”

The corners of Dorian’s eyes crinkled. “I do like my expensive luxuries.” Then, with his usual regal air, he crawled over and climbed in. “Very well. Fart on me and you shall suffer dire consequences.”

“Oh? Like what?” 

Dorian scooted, settling himself. “If your arse is too windy, I’ll summon a chunk of ice to stopper it up with.” Bull opened his mouth, but Dorian snapped, “And don’t you dare say ‘dirty!’ or ‘kinky!’ as if you’d enjoy that. You would not sleep well with an ice cube in your bum.”

Bull laughed softly. “Fair enough.” Then—“Good night, Dorian.”

 

\--

 

Arms full of new books he was bringing up to the library, Dorian passed Varric, only to be stopped. “Hey, Sparkler! I’ve got a question for you, maybe you can help me out.”

“Your timing could be better, Varric,” he commented. Nevertheless, Dorian set the books on a chair for a moment. “Well? What wisdom can I share with you today?”

“I hear you and Tiny…”

Dorian straightened sharply. “I don’t see how that is even remotely your business!”

“Oh, so there _is_ a ‘you and Tiny’ for me to stay out of?” Varric was terrible at playing innocent, Dorian decided. 

“Absolutely not!” _Yet._

“I just heard some things may have happened in Orlais…and maybe on that trip you just got back from…”

“That is utterly inconsequential.” Dorian bent to retrieve his books. 

“Oh well. Let me know if anything consequential happens. Preferably right away; the exact day could be important.”

Dorian halted his retreat to turn back and glare. “Are you… _betting_ on this?”

Varric just grinned. “I’ll cut you in for a sovereign if you make him wait until Wintersend.”

He answered with a long, narrow-eyed glare, then finally announced, “I’ll hold you to that.” He could hear Varric’s raspy laughter all the way to the library.

Sera was there, perched on the railing, already making a face at him. “Aw. Here I’d hoped you was gonna magic Bull away to Bumfuck Land, right? Leaves me a few more prospects in the tavern, if he’d not around to stick ‘em in.”

Dorian set his books down, chose the ones destined for the shelf, and began to put them away. “My dearest Sera, if you can promise not to breathe a word of it, I will allay your fears.”

“Wot?”

He sighed. “Promise to keep this a secret?”

“All right…”

He smiled. “Your tavern wenches will be ripe for the plucking, as the Bull will shortly be very busy elsewhere. I’ve no intention of taking another, or of remaining chaste until Wintersend or any other holiday.”

Sera straightened. “But you told Varric…”

“My dear, Varric is betting on a delay. The surest way to make certain he continues to risk his own money on that delay is to let him think I am on his side, planning to share the winnings. That way he’ll gamble more, believing that I am helping to stack the odds in his favor.”

“Right…” Sera sounded unsure. Dorian returned to his desk and sat, cheerfully. 

“So, I can guarantee that he loses all that money by bedding the Bull at any time of my choosing, in the near future. And he quite deserves to lose, if he’s taking bets on my intimate relationships.”

“Ohhhh.” She finally grinned. “So I could go bet Varric you’ll be on Bull sooner and I’d be sure to win?”

“Sera,” Dorian sighed, “I would consider such an action to be giving away my secret, which you’ve just promised not to do.” The girl glowered at him, and Dorian smiled. “I’ll buy you a drink and a whole pie every night for a week if you’ll forget all I’ve told you here.”

“Deal. See you at supper!”

 

\--

 

“So…Dorian.”

“Yep.” Bull smiled. He’d been expecting this conversation. The boss hadn’t pushed them together lately—hadn’t needed to—but he was still fussing like a worried tama over Dorian…whenever circumstances pulled him away from Josephine long enough for him to remember there was more to the world than her dark Antivan eyes. 

“Cassandra says he’s been smiling more lately…” The Inquisitor looked hopeful. “I haven’t talked to him myself, but that’s a good sign, right?”

“Usually is,” Bull answered placidly.

Trevelyan cleared his throat. “How are…things going?”

“We’ve been spending time together.” That wasn’t what the boss was fishing for, and Bull knew it. 

The Inquisitor tried to act casual—a sad little attempt. Free Marchers were the second-worst at deception, above Fereldens, below Orlesians, and all of them nothing to a well-trained ‘Vint altus. It was actually nice, having Dorian around—someone who presented a challenge, who might keep him guessing a little. Poor Trevelyan might as well paint his secrets on a giant sign board and hang them around his neck. 

He didn’t. Instead, he tried to change the subject, pretended not to be that interested, sat and got a drink and then tried to subtly lead things back around to Dorian. The fact that the boss thought “So, you still thinking of getting married someday?” to be a subtle lead-in was pitiful enough that Bull found he didn’t want to keep evading. 

He sighed. “I’ll settle down, sure, but Dorian doesn’t want to get married, so we won’t.” _Maybe not quite true, but close enough_. Bull suspected Dorian fantasized about it, a little. Maybe not with a giant Tal-Vashoth on his arm…but then, if he did imagine it, it was the sort of fantasy one indulged in only idly. The facts of life forbade it, and Dorian didn’t seem too miserable over that.

Boss was perking up like a mabari pup at the sight of dried venison. “Oh? Oh? You are, ah, you and Dorian…settling down, though? So it’s not just physical anymore? Is he happy? Does he…”

“Boss.” Bull chuckled, but there was a reason he’d cut in right before the “L” word. “Look, Dorian’s a sweet guy. I think we’re good for each other. Yes, he’s happy, and so am I. You can stop worrying about him, all right? He’s a big boy; he doesn’t need any help.” Also not quite true, but adding _from you_ , while accurate, would have sounded mean. He slapped the man on the back instead. “Save the world, yeah? That’s your job. No time for a second career as a matchmaker.”

“Right…” Trevelyan looked a little unsure, but also a little relieved, and relief would probably win out as soon as the lady ambassador showed up for cards. The boss could be a little careless sometimes.

Bull thought Dorian probably deserved better.

 

\--

 

“Goodness, Commander, I never noticed what delightfully strong hands you have. Yet you move your fingers so delicately…the _things_ you must be able to do with those _skillful_ hands…”

Cullen set his piece down on the board and didn’t even glance up. “You’ll not break my concentration like that, Ser. I’m quite aware my hands have no real fascination for you.”

Not to be discouraged, Dorian tried harder. “Now now, you mustn’t be so modest! To demean your own _considerable_ charms this way—I won’t hear of it! You are a treasure, my good man, one who deserves to be properly appreciated. One who deserves to _enjoy_ the attention due him…”

Cullen finally looked up, but the glance was utterly knowing and not at all flustered. “Dorian, if chess is not the diversion you desire, we can leave the game for another time. Perhaps you’d enjoy observing the Chargers’ training…and their captain’s gratuitous flexing.”

Dorian blinked. Then, after a moment, “Why, Commander—turning my own game against me! I’m so proud.” He fiddled with a pawn. “Though if you _really_ wanted to distract me, you should run your boot up my leg. That would be delightful.” Dorian gave one of his characteristic wicked smirks.

Cullen’s gaze was still flat. He sighed. “Be that way if you must, but you aren’t fooling anyone, you know. Iron Bull is the only one who _really_ distracts you anymore.”

 _Evade._ “He certainly _can_ be very distracting, but that doesn’t have to mean I have no eyes for other men.”

Cullen’s expression, somewhat maddeningly, became gentle. “No, it doesn’t have to mean that. But that could still be the case.”

Huffing, Dorian gave up. “Oh, don’t start helping Trevelyan plan my wedding. This is all simply ludicrous.”

With a soft chuckle—very charming, but not nearly deep enough to make Dorian shiver—Cullen answered, “The Inquisitor has an odd way of showing his support, at times, but you need not fear. I’ll not give your secret away to Iron Bull.”

Suspecting that he didn’t want to ask, Dorian asked, “What secret?”

Another smile. “That you only have eyes for him.”

 

\--

 

“He almost says the word, sometimes. _Katoh_.” Bull blinked, straightening, and cleared his throat. It was the dead of night and he was on watch, but of course Cole wouldn’t be _sleeping_. “Word without meaning and with the most meaning of all. But he doesn’t. He would, but he won’t because it’s you.” Bull sighed—he’d lost the kid already. No matter. He had almost two hours left in his watch to try to sort out the squirrely demon’s insight into Dorian’s mind.

“He’s afraid.”

Bull’s head snapped around, staring at the kid. “Dorian…is afraid?” Cole tipped his head and nodded. Bull felt like someone had conjured ice in his stomach. 

He’d been so sure it was fine. When they started things up again with the intent to continue, Bull had done a little fishing, just to make sure. Dorian had been almost insulted.

“Honestly, Bull, I’m no ingénue. I’ve had watchwords in the past and I’ve never failed to use them. Though I’ll admit, the context is a little different in Tevinter, at least among the alti. It’s more of a courtesy—a polite warning before you set the offending partner on fire.”

Tevinter was so fucked up. “You ever have to do that?”

Dorian waved dismissively, fastidiously hanging up his robes. “No no, I never bedded anyone quite that foolish.” Then he turned and became very serious. “I do realize that things are weightier this time. You, however, do not seem to understand that I am the one who should be asking _you_ to remember our watchword.”

“Why is that? You want to tie me up too?”

Dorian gently shook his head, moving to the bed to get comfortable. “As if your ropes mattered.” Then, very pointedly folding his hands and shutting his eyes, Dorian—without moving a muscle or breathing a word—made the fire in the hearth suddenly double in size to a roaring blaze. “You should remove those ghastly pants now,” he calmly stated, still without opening his eyes. “Before I show you what else I can make fire do, without having to look or move or speak.” Then he opened his pretty gray eyes and smiled.

 _Shit that’s hot_.

“All right.” Bull dropped his pants. “Our watchword is _katoh_.”

Nothing about that conversation had indicated fear to him, and Dorian had never seemed hesitant in anything they did. But Cole knew things about people they didn’t always know about themselves, and so far, he’d never been wrong. Bull had been keeping track.

“Dorian is afraid to say the watchword?” He felt ill. If Dorian didn’t really trust him, if everything they’d been tentatively building together was some kind of illusion…

_Maybe he saw something I missed. Maybe he knows…_

_Tal-Vashoth._

_Madness._

“No! You’re doing it wrong. That isn’t why.”

Bull took a deep breath. “Okay, Cole. Why is Dorian afraid to say the watchword?”

“He isn’t. And…he is.” The spirit shook his head. “I’m not saying it right. He isn’t afraid you wouldn’t stop. He’s afraid because he knows you _would_.”

 _Oh._

 

\--

 

“I received a letter the other day, Dorian.”

“Truly? It’s nice to know you have friends.”

Madam de Fer continued as though he had not spoken. “It was from an acquaintance in Tevinter expressing his shock at the disturbing rumors that the heir of House Pavus was… _involved_ with a Tal-Vashoth.”

Dorian snorted a slight laugh. “No need to censor him. I’m sure your ‘acquaintance’ was more eloquent than that.”

“Explicit, yes. _Eloquent_ , no.”

“Well, I suppose you’ll be happy to confirm the tale. You should know, however, that if he used the term _oxman_ , he most likely shares a popular view that any relations with qunari are tantamount to bestiality.” 

That actually made Vivienne pause a moment as they walked through the outpost, following the Inquisitor to the merchant. “I _was_ going to inform him that the only disturbing thing in evidence was his penmanship. It may be that that is no longer the case.”

Mirthlessly chuckling, Dorian observed, “Fine friends you have in Tevinter, my dear woman.”

“Connections, darling—not friends.” She glanced at him. “I hope you do not share in this popular misconception?”

Dorian was speechless for a moment. Finally, he managed, “Well done, Vivienne. I think you finally managed to insult me.”

She hummed and nodded, apparently satisfied. 

Solas had been listening—a rare occasion when the three of them were together, but Trevelyan wanted to go through their equipment and see who needed a new staff—and he spoke up with a question. “How do these people reconcile their view of the qunari as animals with the fact that they are at war with them and haven’t won?”

“You’re asking me?” He shrugged. “Just as well to ask me why the Venatori are following Corypheus, who claims he will rule the world when he has no idea what that world is like or what opposition it will present. Or ask me why a magister who stood against blood magic for a lifetime suddenly felt that one particular spell was different, or justified by circumstances.” He brushed some imaginary dust off his robes. “People don’t often bother to examine their own views closely. ‘Well, there’s always one exception’ or ‘What an odd little accident!’ And then the southern Chantry doesn’t have to admit that their imprisonment of mages is wrong, despite the evidence presented by, for example,” he gestured to Solas, “an apostate elf who _isn’t_ an abomination.”

Vivienne had fallen into step with the Inquisitor and was just saying something to him as Dorian finished, leaving her apparently deaf to the comment. Solas, however, nodded. “And you? Do you take care to examine your own assumptions often?”

“Well, I…” Dorian paused. “I don’t always know them, until they’re challenged. I’d like to think I try.”

“And have you ever tried to reconcile your view of spirits as ‘amorphous constructs of the Fade’ with the intelligent, purposeful being called Cole who travels with us now?”

“Ah.” Dorian frowned. “I suppose I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Well?” Solas prompted. “And now that you have? Should Cole be bound and ‘put to good use’?”

Dorian considered, but not for long. “I suppose Cole proves that what we always believed about spirits must be wrong, at least some of the time.”

“That is a start. And it’s gratifying that you are willing to admit it.”

“As I said,” Dorian offered, “I do try.” He sighed. “I’m accumulating revelations these days, it seems.”

“Oh? What else has been revealed to you recently?”

But Dorian waved the question off. “Nothing important.” _Only the question of what makes a good man._ Dorian, after all, had been raised to identify desirable qualities and seek them—for himself an in others. He’d known many men with an abundance of those desirable qualities—the Inquisitor perhaps more than any of them. Who could be better than Andraste’s chosen Herald, after all?

But lately, Dorian was beginning to think that Trevelyan was _not_ the best man he knew. And he’d never be able to explain how someone without wealth or power or prestige or beauty could still be the best man he’d ever known…but it was becoming harder and harder to tell himself otherwise.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who commented for all your kind words. :D And thank you all for reading this little thing.  
> I'm working on another story that is not as lighthearted, and it's much longer. Not sure when posting will begin, but it'll be along at some point soon.  
> <3

Trouble came to Skyhold, and her hair was red.

She had miles of it, too. Big, thick curls falling all around her shoulders—bare, in the low-cut gown she wore. Bull knew she was looking for him by the way her eyes scanned and scanned and then stopped entirely when they found him. He wasn’t at all surprised that she showed up in the tavern that night—after whatever diplomatic visit she’d officially come for had been concluded—and quickly took a seat beside him. She was all smiles, all eyes, and some truly impressive tits nearly spilling out of her silk bodice.

“My cousin, she was here last year, and she spoke to me so highly of you…” A honeyed Orlesian voice, rather deep for a woman—melodic. The sort of voice that moaned beautifully—like Dorian’s, though probably not quite as exciting as his moans. “I have been begging my family to support the Inquisition so that I may come here and meet you myself.”

“Shameless” was probably the Common word; Qunlat didn’t apply _shame_ to sex, so the best Qunlat word would probably translate closer to “starving”—but with a specific context that the Common word didn’t have.

Bull was going to have to be delicate about this. Not really for the sake of an Inquisition ally, but it seemed fair, when someone told you they’d been waiting for nearly a year with no idea of being rejected, to at least give them the courtesy of an explanation. Figuring out how to do that in a crowded tavern was the trick—Bull didn’t want to go anywhere quieter with her. Rumors would fly, and she would probably take the invitation and run with it before he could get a word out.

So he was just working on gently removing the lady who had wrapped herself around his arm and pressed her breasts against him skin to skin…when Dorian showed up. Bull saw him first, had time to think _Shit_ , and then watched Dorian catch sight of him with a voluptuous redhead hanging on him.

He knew what Dorian was thinking and already knew as soon as he got free of Milady Lust he was going to go explain this—but he hadn’t quite been prepared for Dorian’s reaction. Or, rather, his apparent total _lack_ of one. Dorian stopped dead, and his face smoothed into something so perfectly blank it was jarring. For a long moment, Dorian didn’t move a muscle. Finally, his lips twitched into the slightest smile, and he nodded to Bull, once…then turned and left.

Until that moment, Bull had really thought that they didn’t need to discuss what they were. They were having sex; that was it. They discussed sexual limits. If they stopped having sex—and did he just think “if”?—the one calling it off would say so, and that would be that. What else was there to talk about?

_Well, maybe when the person you’re having sex with isn’t a tamassran…_

Maybe there were a few more things they needed to say.

_Fuck it._ Bull stood and led the little redhead outside—he didn’t invite her, he just went, with her attached. Rumors were inconsequential at this point. Before she could grab his dick, he got her by the shoulders and very firmly and insistently apologized and explained that in the time since he’d fucked her cousin, he had met a wonderful man who now had all his attention, and he could not be unfaithful. He probably could have flowered it up a bit more—Orlesians, she’d eat it up if he told her it was forbidden love—but lying wasn’t his job anymore, and Bull was trying to make a habit of honesty these days.

She wasn’t happy—she was pretty damn disappointed, actually, but Bull couldn’t really find it in himself to feel that bad, when he considered what Dorian was probably feeling right now.

As soon as she relented and returned, dejected, to the tavern, he headed for Dorian’s room.

He knew where it was, though in all the time they’d been fucking, he’d only stopped by with a message or an invitation for later. They’d never spent time together in Dorian’s room; all the supplies were in Bull’s.

He knocked. Dorian opened the door—clothing loose, wine on his breath, but he was still steady. He hadn’t had long enough to get really drunk. “Bull.” He swallowed. “You’re here.”

Gently—“May I come in?”

Gray eyes glanced over him, up and down, uncertainty in them, but Dorian stepped back and held the door. He cleared his throat, shutting it behind Bull once he was inside. “I rather thought…”

“I know.” Bull watched his face steadily, as Dorian struggled to look at him. “Looks like you were wrong, huh?”

“Perhaps.” Dorian crossed his arms, but Bull caught the slight shake in his hands.

“Not your fault, though,” he added softly. “The way it looked.”

“Generous of you to admit it, I’m sure.” Dorian eyes finally met his, searching. “Bull. You…that is, don’t you want…”

“Dorian.” He stepped closer, but not too close—didn’t want to loom. And he smiled. “I want _you._ ”

An empty smile. “Yes, well. But in addition, surely…”

“No addition. _Just_ you.”

Dorian swallowed again, and his voice was thin, strained. “I’m…amenable to that.”

Bull reached out and slowly gathered Dorian into his arms. _Sweet guy._ “Tell me what you want,” he requested, softly.

He could feel Dorian relaxing in stages, like he was trying to find a stable path from one extreme to another. He licked those full lips and looked way up at Bull. “I think I’d like to be tied up. And…and then…do whatever you want.”

That could mean rough and dirty or slow and teasing—in practice, it could mean a lot. But in essence, it meant Dorian had him. Cole had figured it out, in his creepy way, not that it was news to either of them. Dorian knew all along that when he was bound, he had Bull’s undivided attention.

“Hey Dorian?” Bull began, a while later. He had to pull off the man’s cock to speak, but his fingers kept steadily thrusting inside him.

“Mm? _Ahhh…_ ”

“When was the last time I fucked someone else?”

Brow furrowing, Dorian hesitated. Bull reached up and cupped almost his entire head with one hand, lifting gently to make Dorian look at him.

Dorian blinked a few times, quickly. “I…Well, I haven’t exactly attempted to keep _count_ of your partners…”

Bull slid up—fingers holding still inside the man for a moment—and he pressed one soft kiss to the middle of Dorian’s forehead. “Two after the first time we fucked,” he murmured, “when I didn’t know there would be more. And none after the second time.”

He felt Dorian’s breath shudder. “I didn’t exactly promise more at that point, either.”

“No,” Bull agreed. “But it didn’t take you long to come back. And since then, I lock my door when you’re away.”

“I…never required you to…”

“It’s what I wanted.”

“Oh.”

That was all they really said, but the tiny, hopeful smile in Dorian’s eyes said the rest. And then when they finished, when Bull was holding him tight and spilling inside him, he heard Dorian whisper into his ear, “ _Amatus._ ”

It wasn’t too hard to guess what that meant, and from deep inside somewhere, Bull groaned the truth he suddenly knew with pure certainty—“ _Kadan_.”

 

\--

 

Maxwell Trevelyan was not arrogant, but he could be a little vain. When their last day of travel back to Skyhold was slow to begin thanks to the Inquisitor fussing an inordinate amount of time over his hair, Dorian began to lose patience.

“Hey Dorian! Look! I think the boss is starting to take after you!”

He sighed, striding back to the remains of camp. “Inquisitor, you’re wasting your efforts and our time. I would like to reach Skyhold before dark, so please let us be on our way.”

“Hang on, hang on, I’m almost done…”

“None of this is going to survive a day’s ride,” Dorian pointed out—again.

“Well, you know…”

Bull was approaching them; Dorian could feel it. “Aww, poor guy. Let him be, Dorian. If the lady only loves him for his hair, you can’t blame him.”

“Perish the thought that he return looking like he’s been _camping_ ,” Dorian blandly agreed.

“But…we _have_ been camping.” Cole, from atop a rock. No one heeded him.

“You two go fuck yourselves,” the revered Inquisitor grunted.

“We’d rather fuck each other, boss.” This, with that same low chuckle that kept making Dorian smile when he hadn’t meant to.

Dorian _tsked_. “Goodness, do you speak that way around your beloved Lady Montilyet?” 

A sigh. “ _No,_ all right? I’m from a good family and so is she. I’m _respectable_ , as befits my station.”

“Oh,” Dorian arched an eyebrow, giving Bull an exaggerated look. “I suppose I shouldn’t have mentioned the salamander incident to her, then.”

Trevelyan turned to stare at him, gaping. “You _did not._ ”

“Didn’t I?” Dorian tapped his chin. “I was certain I did.”

The Inquisitor spent a minute looking like a dying fish, then snapped, “I’m going to write to your father.”

Bull shifted, only the slightest change in his weight, but Dorian noticed. It was sweet, but he didn’t need protection. 

“Oh? And tell him what?” He smiled sweetly. “‘Hello, I’m the Inquisitor, I courted your son, but alas, my dick was too small for him’?” Bull snorted.

“How about, ‘Your son is bedding a Tal-Vashoth mercenary’?”

“Oh, that? He knows that, I wrote him last month. I didn’t include measurements, though—I don’t have yours. You could add that, if you wished to surprise him. Bull’s are…”

Loud throat clearing. “All right—come on you two. Sun’s climbing the sky. Boss, your sweetheart won’t get to admire your hair at all at this rate.” The Inquisitor, pouting, finally started moving toward the horses. “And you,” he purred in Dorian’s ear, one big hand wrapping around his hip, “telling the family?”

“Well.” Dorian felt his neck getting hot. “After what he put me through, I like to take advantage of my opportunities to give him heart trouble.”

“ _Mmmmm._ ” Bull kissed the shell of his ear, and Dorian found himself thinking about telling Trevelyan to go back to primping. There was a hidden clearing not far off… “When we get back, let’s go over those _measurements_ again.”

“Yes?” _Wonderful_ —now his face was flushing too. And he was smiling like a fool.

“Yeah. I’m going to make you count every inch as I sink…slowly…into you. After you measure my girth…with that pretty mouth of yours.”

Dorian tried to snap, but his voice came out too breathy. “Really, I thought we had discussed dirty talk and horseback riding, and how never the twain shall meet.” 

Bull hummed as they both turned back to the waiting horses. “Was that the conversation about sharing the saddle, facing each other? And seeing who spilled in his trousers first?”

Dorian cleared his throat. “It…ended that way, yes.”

“Ended that way in more than just talk too, didn’t it?” Bull grinned. Dorian groaned. 

“Dorian…”

He sighed. “I’ll draw you a diagram, Cole. Just…not now.”

 

\--

 

The Inquisition’s main army was back in Skyhold, and the Chargers were done their skirmish mission through the Arbor Wilds and would travel back today. In the meantime, they’d stopped at a small village and stayed at an inn rather than camp, as a reward for their hard work.

The proprietor was serving breakfast, and the mercenaries were gathering in the tavern—not nearly as crowded or rowdy as the night before. Bull had preparations to make, or he would still be in bed. The Inquisitor had given Dorian leave to accompany them. Bull wasn’t eating yet so much as he was contemplating bringing food upstairs…but Dorian _had_ said he’d be right down…

As if on cue, Dorian appeared, and the Chargers gave him a welcoming cheer. They really liked to celebrate victories and sex, and their captain and their tagalong mage had been rather obvious about their reasons for retiring early last night. They’d cheered Bull’s arrival this morning, and now Dorian as he joined them in the tavern. 

Bull felt himself grinning like a besotted fool.

Dorian had shaved, but that was about it. He wore no makeup, his hair had been roughly fixed with only his hands, and he was wearing a loose white shirt, trousers, and boots. The shirt was missing the top few buttons and hung open rakishly, exposing several dark love bites and rope burns. He yawned as he approached the table, smiled freely as Bull handed him a drink, and sat down beside him.

Rocky, ever the delicate one, grunted, “Well. That lad had a good night.”

Dalish giggled. “Indeed. Was it another night of _three times_ , Chief?”

He didn’t have to answer; Dorian laughed—a beautiful sound. He grinned slyly at Bull. “Well now…how do we count? What shall we say a ‘time’ is, by definition?”

Krem, watching them with an expressionless face and a little sparkle in his eyes, arched an eyebrow and pointedly removed the cork from his bottle with a loud _pop!_ Stitches nearly spat out his drink. Dorian just grinned wider, gorgeous and sharp. _Ataashi_.

“In that case,” he pronounced, “it was only one for me. And,” he glanced at Bull, “how many did you have, amatus?”

_Little shit._ As if he didn’t know. But Bull smiled happily and told the whole table with pride, “Four.”

His boys let out a cheer that shook the rafters, and Dorian leaned close, curling an arm around his as he kissed Bull’s cheek in front of everyone.

 

_End._


End file.
